The Lady E wrote about leaving England to move back to France in this post.
I can certainly sympathise with the mixed emotions that come from locking up a house to move on to something very different without any certainty about the outcome.
Fueled by hope and optimism, I left Australia to meet and marry the woman who has recently left, although I don’t regret that journey or the stress of adpating to a country so very different from Australia.
Concerned but hopeful, I traveled to the USA with a growing family, only to have IBM pull the carpet from under me and throw me into airplanes at the start of each week and wreck my marriage (for the first time).
Elated, I headed off for picturesque Bern, not far from our honeymoon spot in Interlaken, where I initially knew no German at all and had to buy food via pictures on containers and increasingly desperate hand gestures to butchers and bakers.
Confident, nay cocky, I headed off to Washington DC, only to have some terrorists attack it shortly after, and change the character of the place for a long time. The follow-on combination of anthrax attacks, snipers, a hurricane, monster cicadas, and other terrors spooked me.
Comfortable, years later, I sit here in bed, tapping away, with all of my girls fast asleep, wondering what’s next for me. Will I be able to stay here and grow old and wrinkly in the leafy suburbs in north Virginia? Will I be lured away by a new job? Or a new love?
Even as I wonder how final my separation is, I know that I have been through so many tough times, and lived and worked in many countries and cultures. I have loved and lost more than once and know that somehow I will find a way that works. I don’t know if I should feel so confident, but I do anyway. I’m sure things will fall into place over time. They always have. They will again.