As I write this, it’s Saturday, July 21. We arrived here on Wednesday, July 18. That makes it about 3 days since we have been living in our new home, far across the Pacific Ocean, about 2,700 miles away from our original home. I have never lived anywhere else in my life and now, here I am, 38 years later, a husband and 2 kids, moving away for the first time in my life.
It’s weird to look around and not know the names of the plants around me or not recognize the chirp of the birds here. It’s unsettling to not know the weather patterns or understand this very different type of heat (and eventually, cold). We have been through 2 monsoons (1 with hail) and one dust storm in as many days.
In case you couldn’t tell, this is all very new to us. To me. To my kids. My children have already cried for “home” twice, insisting that this “never happened at home.” I have done my best to reassure them that this is normal here and will eventually become our new normal.
I’ve called home every single day, talking to my parents who I miss tremendously, trying to keep the begging out of my voice in asking them to come here, come live with me.
And yet I also know that we are extremely lucky. We are staying with family, who love us and are doing their best to make this transition easier, and I am grateful. I have a job that I am excited to start, excited to be back in the classroom, excited that my children will be able to come to the same school I’ll be teaching at. I’m excited that we will have more opportunities here, a chance to live in a house that can accommodate us and any family that wants to visit (like my parents will be, in December).
But as for right now, we are doing our best to find our way in a new place, an unfamiliar one, where I don’t recognize the trees, the birds or even the weather. But I think, with time, I will.