One of these days someone's going to tell me that my blog title doesn't make sense. I don't mind, but if anyone asks, it's metaphorical. Or something.
A few months ago I bumped into a woman I used to tutor. During the course of our conversation I mentioned that we were moving abroad. "With a baby?" she asked, incredulously. "Sure! Ha ha! Why not?" I replied. I gave the impression, I suppose, that this is the sort of thing I take in my stride.
And I did, the first time around. When I was 21 and carefree (in as much as someone racked with insecurities can be carefree). With a suitcase and a plane ticket, I had all I needed. Friends? To be made! Paid employment? To be found! It didn't occur to me that what I was embarking on was a major life change. It was just an adventure.
A decade (and a half) later and I'm doing it all again, this time in reverse. I've done this before, so it's no big deal. Right? Ah. Well. That's the thing. It is. I'm not 21 anymore. This has nothing to do with age and everything to do with experience. I have commitments and responsibilities which mean that it's no longer just about me. I have more items in my possession which means a suitcase is not sufficient. I have people in my British life who I've grown with who can't come with me. I know how hard it's going to be to leave them. When I did this the first time, I didn't.
I'm scared and excited and apprehensive and many more things that I can't even begin to articulate.
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