A Note on Where All the History Comes From

The boy ran past me, exclaiming a pure, unintelligible, yet blissful shriek as he gave chase to the pigeon. It still hasn't truly hit me, but at approximately that instant on that clear day on the Thames I acquired the slight inkling that I had arrived in London.

That day was of course just a hop skip and a jump down my barber's pole of time, yet I write about it as if it were a distant memory. A picture from a Facebook album, the modern equivalent of a Super 8 film, each one containing snippets of pure nostalgia. Each moment here feels like it's being lived in slow motion, as if I have more time to crawl into each second and breathe it in where I would normally rush past the seconds, never giving the effort to take them in.

Eddie Izzard, a friend to Britain and one of my favorite comedians, once said that Europe is "where all the history comes from." Having been here for several weeks, I can certainly understand that concept--everywhere I go I run into a castle! There's a certain charm to living in a city where there are streets that have seen the feet of millions of people for thousands of years. It makes me feel safer to know I'm not the only person to ever tread a particular path.

It snowed today. It wasn't the cheap slushy type a poor film director calls for, but the lavish, top-of-the-line stuff reserved for The Chronicles of Narnia or another epic adaptation. It's the most London's gotten in the past twenty years. All staggering five inches of it brought the city to its knees. I can only hope the same comes tomorrow. At least I was here for the first historic fall.

I'll make an attempt to update more often, but that can be difficult considering the traveling and work on my schedule for the next few weeks. At any rate, Cheers!

And the Lime Blazes

I have eight days, six hours, and eighteen minutes until I depart for London.

My body aches, I don’t even have luggage, but I still feel like I’m ready.

And why shouldn’t I feel ready? I’ve been preparing my entire life for this role. All the hours in my youth spent perfecting my best British English accent will not have been in vain, because in eight days, six hours, and fifteen minutes I will be in the United Kingdom.

My parents too have been preparing me since birth, whittling away at my naiveté and opening my mind to the cultures of the world. However, they can only coach me; they cannot play my part. They are not leaving for London in eight days, six hours, and eleven minutes.

To chip away from the confines of the “reducing valve” to thought that is language, I will start a vlog to document my travels and travails across Europe in a more human fashion. I hope you’ll have as much fun as I plan to! If you wish to get to me, the best method will be Skype with the user name daniel.lynch.iii. It would be great to hear from you.

A character with a killer personality once said, “Most actors toil in obscurity, never reaching the spotlight, but if you hone your craft, work diligently, you might just find yourself cast in the role of a lifetime.”

I now have eight days, six hours, and one minute until I mount the stage and begin my adventure.