“Where we love is home–Home, where our feet may one day leave but never our hearts”
“I can’t believe it’s over. Who would have thought this is how it all ends?” This was one of the many thoughts that raced through my mind as I sat on the plane headed home from Spain, the place that had embraced me, as I had it. The place I had been blessed to call home for almost 2 years. “Leaving home, to return home” I smirked as I thought to myself. I sat and contemplated all the opportunities, experiences, and friendships that Spain had afforded me. Of course I was sad. How could I not be? When I left America the year prior, I’d embraced the idea of Spain being my forever home. I mean, not in the way my parents’ house would always be home, but more so in a way of me now being an adult (theoretically), with an established career and looking to make a name for myself and build a home of my own.
Admittedly, there were times while still living in Spain that I wavered on the idea of staying there forever (this mainly only happened on bad days) but one thing I had settled in my mind while there, if not before, was that the world would be my home. I’d came to this decision knowing I’d miss family and likewise my friends but, nonetheless, had no (immediate) desire to return to America. I mean I’d been Flirting with the World since 2008, when I studied abroad the first time, and this love affair with the globe has been going on ever since.
So when this opportunity came up, the one that lead me back here to the UK, it was a no brainer, well, retrospectively speaking.
It seemed that everything happened at once, I was asked to extend my time in Madrid while likewise being considered for positions in America. I had one foot in and one foot out. Then one night after leaving work I checked my email while en route home. I had an email from a recruiter who indicated that my skills and experience matched a position she was looking to fill in Tokyo. “Me?1?” I remember thinking “Really?” as I mentally perused my resume trying to remember what I had on there to make her come to such a conclusion.
Wanting to stay abroad I entertained the idea of moving to Japan though apprehensive about having to throw myself into yet another environment where survival meant learning a language. Though I was reluctant after having just learned Spanish, I pushed the apprehension aside (per usual) and decided to go for it. It wasn’t before long, however, that I was informed that the person who was already in position for that role had decided to re-sign their contract and so I was told that that offer was no longer on the table. In the same correspondence nonetheless I was asked if I was interested in moving to England or Germany for a variation of the same position. After reviewing both contracts and weighing the responsibilities of each, while yet again considering the language component, I chose England over Germany.
I talked myself out of the position several times before finally resolving on the fact that home will always be home. “Just sign the contract Londi, if you don’t like it, just leave and go home. You’ll be fine! ”I reasoned.
So I took my advice and signed the contract. With the new job on the horizon, I packed up my belongings and decided to visit my American home before starting my new life in the UK.
“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”
Although I had only planned on being home a week I was able to spend a full month visiting family while waiting for my work orders and visa to be processed. During this time, I road tripped with my sister to Arizona by way of Vegas. Had a Sibling Day and Sibling Game night with my older brother and sister. Spent the 4th of July with family, met up with childhood friends, ventured up to Northern California to see old advisors, professors, mentors, supervisors and college friends. Just as I had the idea to book a trip to Oregon, I received word that my visa was ready and my travel itinerary was sent to me. I was due to leave 4 days later.
The morning of my flight, the movers came to pack up all my belonging and I sat on the front lawn with my sister laughing as we gave each other henna tattoos (un desastre). I was surprisingly calm. I expected a meltdown somewhere in those 4 days as historically it has been known to precede every major transition in my life to date. It never came.
I got to the airport waved goodbye to my mom and sister, grabbed my luggage, and headed to my new home.
The 10 hour direct flight was long, but smooth. I’d arrived in England at about 7 in the evening ( I think… or maybe it was morning) That first night I stayed at the Airport Hilton then the next morning a car was sent for me and I started work the very next day jet lagged and all. Life on this side of the pond has been great. Working for an American agency while abroad has been equally rewarding making the transition more favorable but to say my first month here has been easy would be an exaggeration .
My second week in England, my brother was admitted to ICU after just being seemingly healthy the weekend prior when I left. He went to the hospital after noticing a change in his breathing pattern. He explained to the doctors that he was finding it difficult to take full breaths of air. He was admitted to Acute Care on the spot but within hours was transferred to ICU and put on a ventilator as his condition worsened. His diagnosis was Severe Pneumonia. His lungs were almost completely filled with fluid and he was no longer able to breathe on his own. Something weird was going on with his kidney so he underwent dialysis as well. I was almost 6,000 miles away from home, scared for his life, and couldn’t do a thing about it. While living my dream, I was faced with my biggest nightmare.
That meltdown that I thought I had dodged finally found its way to me. During my lunch break, overwhelmed with thoughts of my brother laying on what could possibly be his deathbed, I curled up in the back seat of my car and begged God not to let my brother die. “He’s young.” I reasoned, “He was just okay 2 weeks ago…I’m not there…It can’t happen…Not like this…Not now.” I pleaded through relentless tears.
When it was time to return to work I wiped my face, pulled myself together and walked back into work like everything was fine although both doctors and nurses were saying it would be nothing short of a miracle for him to survive this sickness in such a severe state. Four hours later, however, as I was leaving for the day, I got word from my mom that his condition had drastically improved. He was taken off of the ventilator and breathing on his own, a task that just earlier in the day he’d tried but failed. He was transferred out of ICU within the hour and after a week finally able to speak and eat solid food again. While he still has quite a road to recovery ahead, just like that *snap* his health had improved. My mind was put to ease knowing he was somewhat better and I was then able to refocus on getting settled in. In the days to follow other parts of my transition began to fall into place as well. I finally found a house that I liked; 2 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom with a 1 car garage and a nice size backyard. One of the Dr.’s in the hospital who’s in the process of transitioning back to America gifted me her car as she didn’t feel like going through the selling/buying phase. I’ve finally got accustomed to driving on the left side of the road in the right side of a car. It only took me 8 days, and a very close brush with death.
So that story goes like this. A couple of weeks ago, I was almost starting to feel comfortable driving out here. Almost ready to introduce music to my commutes and then it happened, just as I was terrified it would. I reverted to my American customs. Entered a street driving on the right side of the road (instead of the left) and came face to face with oncoming traffic, a big rig to be exact traveling at least 50mph, only because he was nearing an intersection, as the typical speed limit is 70 mph . A little calm but quick maneuvering got me back together. I swerved onto the shoulder, but my life, yep, it flashed before my eyes! Most of the roads here outside of the city are one lane highways with traffic traveling in each direction. It is not very typical for there to be a shoulder on the side of the road. Most streets are either lined with trees or lead straight into a ditch with not even as much a curb as a barrier. As I drove the rest of the way home still full of adrenaline, I realized the only shoulder present throughout my whole commute was right where I made the lane error and needed it to turn off. Had I been anywhere else on the road, that situation could have ended totally different.
8.31.16
I’m all moved it. Well not technically. I got my keys today and the movers will be here Friday to set up the rest of my house. Things are slowly but surely falling into place and starting to become “normal”. Alvis, my brother, was discharged from hospital as of Monday 8.29.16. He is still on his road to recovery with doctor visits and lung exercises every so often. But he, like all of us is just happy he is home.
In true Londi fashion, plans for my birthday are already underway, because you know in my mind, my birthday is like tomorrow. Last week we had a 3 day weekend, it was a holiday here in England. This weekend is another 3 day weekend because my job celebrates all of the American holidays. I plan on maybe going castle hunting. I hear there are some really nice ones worth seeing. I might also go to a few charity shops with a colleague to find some antique furniture that I might be able to refurbish and turn into night stands or end tables. I don’t know, we’ll see. Not far from my place there’s a train station that’ll take me right into Paris so who knows, I might even end up there for lunch one day. I’m just going wherever this little life of mine takes me. So I’ll be sure to keep you guys updated as the adventures come, but until then…
Love, Hips and Fish and Chips 🇬🇧
Sincerely,
Londi
Oh but wait speaking of Fish and Chips, although this isn’t my first time eating Fish and Chips in England, I’ve had possibly the best Fish ‘n’ Chips I’ve ever had a couple of days ago. The fish was huge; it was about the length of my arm from elbow to wrist. But also speaking of food, I was very sad to find that the closest Chinese food spot is in Scotland, which is an 8 hour drive. I don’t even know why that that was listed as a possible option on my GPS BUT I did find that there is a PotBelly’s out here, which was one of my dinnertime staples when living in Portland. I can’t wait to see what else I find out here to remind me of home in my new home, away from home, away from home. This is gonna be a fun 3 years I can feel it.
