First, let me state that packing my bags and moving to London in the late summer of 2007 under the guise of pursuing a graduate program, was by far they best thing I have done with my life, so far. The places I tasted, the strangers I laughed and cried with, the people whom I grew to love and will forever keep with me in some shape or form, and not to mention, the places where I have lived while in the story city of London are all contributors to my very own story.
In the context of AD Land and the planning discipline, well tis a bumpy road filled with upsets, triumphs and a never ending flow of insights if you know where to look. Those who are all the way up in the high planning seats in those top and up-start agencies all once came from a different industry, background, passion, hobby, you name it. I have mentioned before that planning, while it can be seen as another way of researching, is a way to bring a truly social aspect to a problem, and the best problem solvers comes from the bumpiest of roads.
I am far from anything great in the planning community...yet, however my Never Ending Weekend began with the infamous student visa dilemma. While applying to, interviewing for, and competing at the JWT London Graduate Scheme in 2008, I had begun my story soon bouncing to other tradition shops such as Saatchi & Saatchi on 80 Charlotte street, and soon to Fallon London to be amidst the great minds that helped bring to life those Cadbury & Sony adverts. While stepping over the front stoop of Saatchi, reading "Nothing Is Impossible" every time, to indulging in the free coffee bar at Fallon where shoulder rubbing with Robert Senior and Laurence Green is common, I was still bound by the title of "glorified work placement." I say this not driven by ego, but by definition a work placement lasts only a week or two at best in London Ad Land, and for me to have been asked to remain on and later return, I had really began to see I had some sort of talent for this thing called planning and I wanted to make it permanent.
Being a Yankee in London has its fun at happy hours when locals think the only words or phrases we know start with...
"omg, like totally awesome _______(insert normal sentence here)______."It also has its perks when we begin to hint of the various forms of sweet treats we all grew up with, obviously among some other perks here and there. However, the most difficult is the limits placed on really being able to start a life.
My student visa, while granting me leave to remain in England, at the same time, placed limits on my potential to earn, work, live (due to references needed to secure a legit flat), and travel without being constantly grilled about my life's choices leading up to standing at that grey border control kiosk where a grimmace framed by bullet proof glass made me feel less of a human as I prayed for a wee bit of ink to release me from what seemed like a timeless limbo. As I was faced with difficulties around my graduate program's stipulations and that of the visa application for extending my stay, I soon found myself in a room somewhere in Farringdon, awaiting my turn to plead my case to a judge and a rep from the Home Office, with an audience of two lawyers and others making their cases to remain. While sitting at the small desk, with a legal foundation to argue my case, equal only to watching a dozen seasons of Law & Order and The West Wing, I began. As words came out, I remembered my life over the past two years, the triumphs and the upsets, the people and what was to come, until I was interrupted by the Home Office rep,
"There is no doubt, this young man has fought to make a life for himself here, however he has no family ties keeping him here, only a social circle at best, and a career which is not limited to the shores of England."
[I gulped]
This man just transformed me and what I knew as my life in London into a cluster of crumbs to be swept from the table. The only thing I had left was the most basic reply I could think of...
"I'm here today to plead my case that after studying and working, I simply want to be here in London, apart of everything."
The judge peered over her glasses, took notes and professed to the court a summary of the facts raised and informed me, she would decide by the following fortnight.
Despite the most dehumanizing experience I had just encountered, as the judge uttered, "fortnight," I thought to myself, cool! I still wanna live in a place where you can speak like this, where knighthood, castles and perhaps even dragons once ruled the same lands, I was walking on. I began at that moment to think that being a Yankee in London, allowed me to see things, others sometimes miss.
Unfortunately, events that followed weren't all ideal as I was planning on a move, parting from someone I cared for deeply, have less and less pounds to play with (money not fat), and finding that while the traditional shops I had been at thought I had great potential, the upsetting economy paired with my visa uncertainty did not allow for any permanent reality in London.
As that fortnight approached, I had already accepted my new reality of moving back to the States, so when I received a letter from the Home Office stating I had won my appeal to remain I was thrown into a fog of "what ifs" aching for someone to swoop in and give me the answer. I was soon informed that while I had come out victorious, it meant beginning the whole 8 month process again with no passport, no means of secure funds and back to square one. This was unfortunately, while not impossible, far from desired.
And so, with my bags packed and a few tears, I said goodbye and took to the skies on another adventure!
Stay Tuned...
