While standing in line to board our long international flight, I overheard Adam saying to another guy, "this move has gone really smoothly"and I couldn't help it. I groaned, rolled my eyes, and wondered what planet he was dwelling on because I would not have used those words to describe our international move.
Those were just some of the things that happened in the weeks leading up to our actual departure. None of it was life threatening. None of it was earth shattering. But none of of it was fun or comfortable. It was around that point in the process of moving that I suddenly had a sharp pang of recognition. Moving is like childbirth.
There is preparation, anticipation, excitement, research, fear, exhaustion, uncertainty, and joy. There are stages and labor pains. And there is amnesia. I somehow convince myself that moving every three years is a normal and tolerable thing to do until I am in the midst of it and I abruptly remember just how overwhelming and draining the whole darn process can be.
We have been back in the States now for almost three weeks and we are past the stage of active labor. We have survived the jet lag, we have moved into a house, we have received most of our belongings, we have vehicles, and we have library cards. Similar to new parents we are now in that blurry, fumbling stage of learning our way around this new territory. Delighting in all of the diverse restaurant offerings, adjusting to the insane amount of air conditioning found in public spaces, and deliriously sick of unpacking boxes, we fall into bed each night thoroughly worn out. But the good news is that we are here and we are getting a bit more settled each day.
A new stage, a new place, a new adventure.