Saying goodbye to my family and friends a second time around was beyond difficult. I never imagined that I would be resistant to moving to another country. But I have to start over, all over again. Find a place to live, make new friends, find my way around. Things that should be exciting, have started to sound exhausting. Everything in me was telling me to stay.
I was hoping that the excitement of the move would hit me like a ton of bricks. I kept waiting for it. But it’s been taking its time, slowly creeping up on me at the most unexpected moments. I kept trying to imagine what life in Australia would be like, but for the life of me I couldn’t.
Instead I’d imagine missing my nephew’s birthday, girl’s trips, fishing with my brothers and helping my best friend plan her wedding… among so many other things. Call me sentimental, but no matter where I go, California is my home and I love it dearly.
Though London was fast-becoming my second home, it was time to leave, however inopportune the timing. I learned to love the cobblestone roads, despite the war they waged on high heels. I loved the pubs and Sunday roasts and afternoon teas. I loved the parks and markets and museums. I loved the neighborhoods with their distinct personalities. Most of all I love the friends that I was just getting to know- some of the best and sweetest and most astonishingly creative and compassionate people I’ve ever met.
All the memories and images flashed before my eyes when I got on the plane from England to Australia. I thought that only happens when you’re about to die? It was like a trailer of my life over the past 8 months, but on speed. And I panicked. What was I doing? Why was I leaving?
All I knew was that I was supposed to go. I was happy to leave with only the clothes on my back, but the doors opened to Australia, of all places. The fact that I have nothing planned out and no control over any of this makes me want to hyperventilate ‘til I pass out. But I know that God will take care of me. He always has, I guess all the plans and goals were really just an illusion of control. And apparently He had better for me than just the clothes on my back. Much better. I got a job immediately and an apartment shortly after. So good.
I suppose this is the beginning of a new story. And this time I’m not going to try and guess the ending… or force it into reality. What some praise as persistence, I’ve been learning is actually just sugar-coated stubbornness. What has my stubbornness kept me from in the past? I don’t want a fairy tale whirlwind if it just picks me up and takes me on a ride before dropping me off at square one again with nothing to show for it. I want a plot.
I have no idea what is written for me, and for the first time in my life, I’m going to try not and write it myself. Although I’ve never been a believer in fate, I do believe in purpose. Thank God for a clean slate. Let’s see where this goes.