Jennifer Harrison's Blog - Posts Tagged "wonderland-romance"
Entering Wonderland
When I moved from America to Britain with near-sighted romantic stars in my eyes, I had one mission: an epic, international love affair with a charming Englishman in Wales. We had spent exactly twelve days together since our fateful, first encounter eighteen months before.
A couple of weekends in London, a week at his home in Cardiff, but mostly we communicated by phone and battled time zones. We imagined ourselves as passionate writers of (primarily electronic) letters, as if we were courting Victorian old school. He spoke often about our future together and his need to become a "better man" for me. He was handsome and convincing, and—unwilling to see any red flags—I moved from California to England to unsettle into my rented flat full of strangers in Oxford. (I remember thinking, who moves to Wales?) The Englishman arrived in my Jericho neighborhood. Grumpy. Within the span of our overnight evening became awkward breakfast, the slow torture realization of my possibly massive mistake threatened.
Two days later, I began keeping a diary as a way for me to cope with the fact that not only had I chosen the wrong man, but I had turned my life completely upside down for him. I was stubborn enough not to project the reality of my idiocy on others by crawling back to Los Angeles defeated by love. Heartbreak and all, I was determined not to let him ruin my summer. But no matter how many eccentric Brits surrounded me with their beautiful accents, I was truly alone in a foreign country without a clue how to move forward.
Except "alone" was not exactly my reality.
As I entrenched myself in quirky Oxford, the home of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, my biggest obstacles to getting over the duplicitous Englishman were the self-critiques. The loudest criticism came from the contrary, obstinate parts of myself—my heart, my mind, and my sex life.
My heart absconded early on to stow away in Wales, pitifully attached to the unworthy man who promised a grand romance. I could have followed her, let my heart lead the way, but my mind knew this Englishman was not the man for us. She forced the idea that I was a moron after which followed merciless judgement for relocating 3,000 miles away to be with a man we knew too little about. My sex life was angry I had relegated her to hibernation after the tryst with the Englishman gone wrong, and her pouting silence turned into dramatic funereal speeches. Exhausting and tiresome.
I took the wrath of my heart, my mind, and my sex life, which was the wrath I directed at myself for my stupid romantic fantasies. The worst they threw at me was preferable to being pulled around by any one of them in particular. My heart might have eventually gotten the man she wanted, but it would have come at the cost of my independence and a better love story around the corner. I was right not to let her take over entirely. But without the reckless dominance of my heart, my mind would have never made that inter-continental move in the first place, and I would have missed out on what became one of the most irreplaceable experiences of my life.
So, it’s always been a balance...
And if writing Perverse Wonderland (my adult novel, a dark comedy adaptation of my diary entries) makes anything clear for this former expatriate, it’s that I am quite unskilled at balancing my expectations when it comes to romantic love.
To live in joys that once have been,
To put the cold world out of sight . . . ~ Lewis Carroll
Perverse Wonderland by Jennifer Harrison
A couple of weekends in London, a week at his home in Cardiff, but mostly we communicated by phone and battled time zones. We imagined ourselves as passionate writers of (primarily electronic) letters, as if we were courting Victorian old school. He spoke often about our future together and his need to become a "better man" for me. He was handsome and convincing, and—unwilling to see any red flags—I moved from California to England to unsettle into my rented flat full of strangers in Oxford. (I remember thinking, who moves to Wales?) The Englishman arrived in my Jericho neighborhood. Grumpy. Within the span of our overnight evening became awkward breakfast, the slow torture realization of my possibly massive mistake threatened.
Two days later, I began keeping a diary as a way for me to cope with the fact that not only had I chosen the wrong man, but I had turned my life completely upside down for him. I was stubborn enough not to project the reality of my idiocy on others by crawling back to Los Angeles defeated by love. Heartbreak and all, I was determined not to let him ruin my summer. But no matter how many eccentric Brits surrounded me with their beautiful accents, I was truly alone in a foreign country without a clue how to move forward.
Except "alone" was not exactly my reality.
As I entrenched myself in quirky Oxford, the home of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, my biggest obstacles to getting over the duplicitous Englishman were the self-critiques. The loudest criticism came from the contrary, obstinate parts of myself—my heart, my mind, and my sex life.
My heart absconded early on to stow away in Wales, pitifully attached to the unworthy man who promised a grand romance. I could have followed her, let my heart lead the way, but my mind knew this Englishman was not the man for us. She forced the idea that I was a moron after which followed merciless judgement for relocating 3,000 miles away to be with a man we knew too little about. My sex life was angry I had relegated her to hibernation after the tryst with the Englishman gone wrong, and her pouting silence turned into dramatic funereal speeches. Exhausting and tiresome.
I took the wrath of my heart, my mind, and my sex life, which was the wrath I directed at myself for my stupid romantic fantasies. The worst they threw at me was preferable to being pulled around by any one of them in particular. My heart might have eventually gotten the man she wanted, but it would have come at the cost of my independence and a better love story around the corner. I was right not to let her take over entirely. But without the reckless dominance of my heart, my mind would have never made that inter-continental move in the first place, and I would have missed out on what became one of the most irreplaceable experiences of my life.
So, it’s always been a balance...
And if writing Perverse Wonderland (my adult novel, a dark comedy adaptation of my diary entries) makes anything clear for this former expatriate, it’s that I am quite unskilled at balancing my expectations when it comes to romantic love.
To live in joys that once have been,
To put the cold world out of sight . . . ~ Lewis Carroll
Perverse Wonderland by Jennifer Harrison
