Here to stay: When you realise you’re not moving back to America. Ever.
Posted on November 15, 2012 by yankeebean
There was a time in my life when I thought I’d move back to America one day. It affected me in little ways, for example, I only bought cheap IKEA temporary-seeming stuff and I never bought any region 2 DVDs…
There was always this belief in the back of my mind that one day I’d buy a one-way plane ticket and head home for good.
But being happy here kinda crept on me when I wasn’t looking. I met my dude here, I got married here, this weekend I bought a dog here. These are root-making things and my roots keep digging further and further down while I’m getting on with the admin of every day life.
I can almost pin-point the time when I realised that I might actually live in England forever. It happened after living here for 3 or 4 years. It wasn’t a single instant of realisation – it was more like I was on the beach of Blissful Ignorance and gradually growing waves of Realisation started rolling towards me. I didn’t notice anything, but all of a sudden I seemed to be neck deep in the stuff.
Hand on heart (and at half mast) – I MOURNED for my country. Oooooohhhhhh, did I cry.
I know I know I know, it sounds ridiculous and overly dramatic, right? I’m sure you’re SHOCKED to hear that I’ve ever done ANYTHING OVER DRAMATIC, RIGHT? (If I wasn’t typing, I’d be flailing my hands around right now)
And it’s not like I never cry – oh no – I LOVE to cry! Crying is awesome! Movies, TV commercials, old episodes of Extreme Makeover Home Edition – just hand me anything and I’ll cry on it. But this particular crying episode was more of an extended edition, special-2-disc-set-with-commentary sort of situation. It was epic Gandalf-you-shall-not-pass kind of emotion.
I wasn’t even miserable living in the UK at the time – I was happy! What in the flippin’ heck sense does that make?? I was already playing for the UK team a lot of time and the terms ‘we’ and ‘us’ were creeping into conversation when I talked about English people.
But the realisation that I might never live a 20 minute drive from my Mom and Dad again was too much to handle. Back then, the mere thought would send me fleeing from the room in search of tissues and Joni Mitchell songs.
I guess whenever you’re busy embracing something new, you’re also busy letting something go.
When I visit home-number-1 (America) now, it’s a really common question that people ask. ”Do you think you’ll ever move back to America?”. I always answer, “Who knows? Only time will tell,” because I can’t know for sure that I’ll never move back. I gotta confess – I LOVE that fact. I guess there’s still a small part of me basking on that beach and ignoring the waves.
Are there any other lifers out there that know what I mean?