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“Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun: it shines everywhere.” – Twelfth Night

This past weekend, I was lucky to spend some time in Stratford-Upon-Avon, William Shakespeare’s childhood home.

As a long time admirer of The Bard, it was a strange and amazing experience to go inside of his childhood home, which was a beautiful Tudor-style house on the main street of the village. I couldn’t imagine the greatest poet of all time’s little feet running about the same floorboards I stood on. It was even crazier to visit Trinity Church, where Shakespeare’s body is buried.

What’s most interesting is how much I appreciated being outside of London for a little while. Coming from living in New York City, I often feel suffocated by the rush of big cities. In the states, I flee home to the New Jersey shore for a weekend of calm. Here, it going to the country was like being able to take a deep breath. (Literally, my snot wasn’t grey from pollution like it is in London!) Stratford-Upon-Avon’s town centre was very tiny, and beside it was fields of sheep and grass.

I am clearly drawn to living in big cities, but sometimes I wonder how much I really belong in them. I’m young, only twenty, so I suppose I have time to figure it out. I spent so many years complaining about the suburbs and how boring they are. Maybe as you grow older you develop a new appreciation for the quiet and the ease that comes along with a boring suburban home. Or, I might just be spoiled because even when I did live in the suburbs, I wasn’t more than 45 minutes away from the big city.

London is never-stopping, never-ending and packed with things to do. Stratford-Upon-Avon is Shakespeare and a river. But was a nice river it was.

 

 

 

 

 

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