Moving is an exhausting, taxing experience. Pushing thru it is that much more difficult when you don’t want to go.
I remember vividly the day we touched down at Brussels International four years ago. How clean it was. How funny the houses looked. How different and exciting it would have felt, if I’d allowed myself to feel anything other than exhaustion and disbelief that we actually made it. (As many assignments as Matt’s had cancelled, I learned not to get my hopes up. Because, seriously, who gets Korea cancelled? )
In these four years, I’ve seen and done and experienced some incredible things. I saw a man poop on the street, then wandered into a building full of Germans drinking and belting out, appropriately enough, Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire.” Before noon. (Seriously. You can’t make this stuff up.) I saw a shark strapped to a moped. And a man walking a dog while driving in a cherry picker. I’ve had conversations in languages I don’t speak. And eaten things you shouldn’t eat. I’ve been lost and angry and frustrated and alone. I’ve been humbled, overjoyed and overcome by great beauty.
I’ve had a lifetime of adventure (and the pleasure of sharing it with some of my favorite people in the whole world). And so I leave a different person than I arrived. I hope to return to the states with the same wide-eyed optimism with which I came. But I fear I can’t, for I have changed but my country has not.
Then I wonder what will become of this blog. Perhaps I’ll finally find time to post pics of all our adventures. Or fly to South America to find new ones. Until then, here’s to what lies ahead.