SPEAK
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HERE COMES THE SUN HOW A SUMMER ABROAD HELPED FREE ONE JAYPLAY WRITER FROM THE DARK CLOUD OF ANXIETY AND SELF-DOUBT
Contributed photo London calling: Michael Bednar, standing next to the Thames River, learns to branch out and not worry so much about what other people think while studying abroad in London.
Contributed photo
// MICHAEL BEDNAR
My friends and I made our way down the sidewalk, past pedestrians walking as quickly as tortoises, obtrusive strollers and people peddling assorted knickknacks. I looked up and saw our final destination looming about a block ahead. The company's initials, a garish red, taunted me. "Enter," it whispered. "I dare you." That old familiar feeling of anxiety washed over me. I could feel beads of sweat crawling out of my forehead, cruelly threatening to build into drops that would become all-too-visible to those with whom I would interact. The corners of my glasses began fogging up.
It was not a shark tunnel at an aquarium; nor was it a children's toy store. No, it was something far more evil; the kind of place I actively avoided unless absolutely necessary, the kind of place I was convinced would be my own personal hell, if I ended up going there. It was a clothing store.
Two weeks before, I had boarded a plane from New York City to London, where I would complete an internship at a music magazine focusing on alternative rock and punk bands. I'd never been to Europe, nor had I been more than 100 miles away from my family for longer than a couple weeks. As I sat in the dingy airport food court, looking at the dark skies blanketing New York City, threatening to burst open any minute, I nibbled on a bagel with lox and thought to myself, "What the hell have I agreed to do?" What if I hated my internship? What if I didn't like anyone that went on the trip with me? What if someone bombed the subway car I was taking to work?
Of course, I loved my internship. I did indeed make friends with my fellow study abroad students and I somehow survived a daily 30-minute commute on the Tube, London's subway system. But living in London changed me in a way that an internship simply couldn't. My life before London constituted strings of "awkward turtle" moments, low self-confidence and entirely too much focus on what other people supposedly thought of me. I refused to go into restaurants alone when
Shopping for clothing, a pretty basic activity for most people, was hell for me. I'd sweat profusely, horrified by what the other hunter-gatherers were thinking about me. I imagined them giving me mocking looks when my back was turned to them, or snickering with their friends if they didn't like what I was trying on.
I dreaded walking to campus, afraid people were laughing at the bounce in my walk, the way I'd get carried away with the music to which I was listening, unknowingly walking in time with the beat, clumsily jerking my way towards Wescoe or Stauffer-Flint. The lowest point, I think, was the day I couldn't bring myself to carry an umbrella on campus during a murderous rainstorm because I was afraid I'd look too "weird" to other people. I wore a
meeting friends. What would the people dining think of me, the loner freak who had the audacity to enter the restaurant without anyone else? I'd put off interviewing sources for stories for my journalism classes until the extreme last minute, not willing to put myself through the torture of talking to someone I'd never met.
hoodie. It was 80 degrees outside, and one of those spring days so humid you felt slimy the second you stepped outside.
I thought about all of this as I stared up at H&M's logo. I entered with my friends, originally planning to stick close to them and then use them as a cover for my humiliation at shopping for myself.
"Hey, why don't I help you guys pick some cute stuff out, and then we can look for me after you're done!" I exclaimed, with a note of hysteria in my voice.
"Uh, you really can go ahead if you want to," my friend Grace said, looking quizzically at me. I decided she was right, and cautiously made my way to the men's section of the store. If I wanted to blend in more with the locals, after all, I'd need some updates to my wardrobe. Although my penchant for buying grandfatherly cardigans en masse served me well in packing a London-appropriate wardrobe, I still wanted to blend in a little more. I tried to ignore the growing quantity of perspiration forming on my forehead, and forced myself to browse
for things I liked. I spotted a tan, waist-length trench coat with large black buttons I'd seen the men of London sporting, and swooped over to pick it up. From there, a red-and-white gingham blazer caught my eye. As I continued browsing and picking up things I wanted to try on, a strange feeling came over me...I felt empowered. I pictured Aretha Franklin wailing "Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!" in my mind, and I determinedly marched over to the dressing room with my selections. "That wasn't so bad," I thought as I tried on what I'd picked out.
From there, I threw off my shackles of self-doubt. I marched the streets of London, proudly inflating my umbrella whenever it rained. One day, I yanked a book off the shelf in my room and stomped over to a kebab stand, taking a chair facing the street, people-watching alone. I went to a concert by myself, dancing like a wild man and screaming all the words along with the band, not caring what anyone thought of me. I even performed a rousing, out-of-key rendition of "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" completely sober in a karaoke bar full of strangers.
Now that I'm back in the States, I see how that trip changed me almost every day. If I'm strutting down Jayhawk Boulevard while listening to Aretha, I don't even think about what people think of my bouncy step. I'm not afraid to approach people on campus for journalism interviews. And I'm no longer afraid to go places by myself. Sometimes, a flicker of anxiety will rear its ugly head, but I just push it away, refusing to succumb to the beast for one more moment of my life.
And then I did something unthinkable. Something I would never have done before my trip. Something that would have made me nauseous even to consider.
I asked the salesperson folding clothes in the dressing room his opinion on the fit of my jacket. I wanted to know if the proportions were right. I stared at my reflection for a good five minutes before I worked up the courage to do so.
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