the honeymoon phase

This expat life has its ups and downs. Highs and lows, waves and phases. A rite of passage. When we first arrived we were solidly in the honeymoon period. Dreamily walking through cobbled streets, playing in wooded parks, sipping tea, popping in and out of museums, new pubs, even the bus. Everything was new, exciting, full of core-memory making potential. Marvelling at the experiences we were having, swapping British phrases we overheard, remarking on the quirky differences between life here and back home in the states. Everything feels charming, each day a gift. Cliches would pour out of my mouth. I can't believe we get to do this, live this beautiful life! We daydreamed about what it would be like to stay longer, forever?! 

Then one morning I woke up to an email from the owners of the house we are renting saying they need to move back in earlier. Then the car we just bought started doing something weird. Then the washing machine broke.  In the span of one week I am quickly humbled. The honeymoon phase is over. This place is not my home. We don't really belong here. 

Now comes the next phase of life as an expat. Vacation mode is replaced with reality. Sometimes harsh reality. We. Live. Here. All the little annoyances of cars and houses and difficult people and life just don't stop because you put an ocean between you and everything familiar. It's the "making it work" phase. The "just gotta figure it out" phase. The "keep calm and carry on" phase to be fitting. 

Pulling up my boot straps I make the calls, psych myself up, put aside my disappointment, put on the positive face, pray, remind the kids (and myself) that God is in the details, it will all work out.  And of course it does. We have a new house lined up for when the time comes, the old car has been scrapped and a new one is parked in the driveway, the washing machine is fixed. Everything's fine. We're fine!

It's a strange feeling to love a country not your own. The time I've spent here, even for short fleeting seasons, is so deeply rooted in my heart, so solidly a part of who I am and who I've grown up to be. My accent, probably the way I dress, my total discomfort driving on the left side of the road, all signs that give me away as a foreigner. Yep! I'm from America, I say to those who ask. BUT I live here! I quickly add. And I lived here once before, so I have a real claim. I'm not just a tourist, I protest. 

During a difficult week though, it can feel like the entire country is rejecting you, reminding you not to get too comfortable here. And I'll admit I sulked a bit. Gave in just a little to the feelings that things would be easier back "home" with my own stuff, with all its conveniences, and a full size washer and dryer, and extra help. I miss my mini-van!

This is not my first rodeo though. Certainly not my first move, and not my first time in England. I know all too well that the next phase of living abroad is wishing time would slow down, and dreading the goodbye. So in between all that messy reality we got library cards and checked out some books, found a new cafe, explored the most charming town, and started school. Tempered a bit, but still trying not to live like the other shoe is about to drop.  It's a delicate balance of soaking in as much as we can while we're here, panicking that time is ticking away, but allowing myself to feel excited for what will come next. 

Keeping all that in mind we endeavoured to reclaim some of that honeymoon magic this weekend. We spent Saturday in Ely, a small city up the road from us. Lunch by the river followed by a stroll up the hill, past grazing cows and into the cathedral.  Nothing like an 11th century cathedral to put things in perspective.  A true marvel and masterpiece. I spent the whole time wandering around in reverence, just amazed that people actually built something like this, crafted it by hand over a hundred years. And it's still here! Why don't we build things this stunningly beautiful anymore.  Will anything we do stand for 900 years? 

T.J. had a case to do at the hospital Sunday morning but it was a day of rest for the kids and I. Then after nap time we took the bus into the city center with no real plan except a dinner booking. We set off down a favourite winding street that carried us to new streets we hadn't yet explored, passing colourful shops, crowded cafe tables of people enjoying the golden sunshine and a cocktail on the sidewalks, cathedral bells tolling 5 pm. Our table at The Eagle that evening happened to be The Table of Watson and Crick fame.  Again, I am awed. 

We live in Cambridge. 

For now. For a season that will inevitably have more thorns along with the roses. But my spirit is feeling thankful and reassured that tomorrow and forever are in the hands of the Father. 

"Teach us to number our days aright that we might gain a heart of wisdom... Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days!"
Pslam 90:12-14