(Pardon the delay in this post. I wrote it nearly two months ago. Must remember to press the "Publish" button.)
Spring is my favourite travel season; I've been to some part of the EU every spring for the past three years. And now, the spring season represents something entirely new and different. After all, the last spring I encountered was last November in Australia. To me, spring is meant for journeying.
But not this year. We're saving money for a house this year.
For this entire past spring season, I've been going about my life here in Seattle feeling like I'm late to something, that someone is waiting for me somewhere else and I'm not there.
Surprising inquiries from friends and family don't help either. "Why are you still here? Isn't this the time you usually go to Europe?" YES, I should be overseas. NO, I don't know why I'm still here.
I'm trying not to already resent this massive financial burden of a house we're saving for; this overwhelming travel-resistant anchor to our little city. I'm trying to focus on our amazing trip to the East Coast coming up in September. I'm trying to count all my tremendous blessings and realize that most Americans don't travel at all.
But the feeling I can't shake is more than just a feeling of nostalgia. It is more than just memories of good times. It actually feels wrong not to be there, mucking it out with other Londoners or other Sydneysiders. Somehow, I feel like that is where I belong.
But that scares me even more, because the answer staring me in the face is such a massive undertaking. Should Hubs and I actually try to expatriate? How terrifying of a word is "expatriate"? And how unbelievably difficult is it for two people with absolutely no legitimate ties to a country at all? And if we did, would that eventually ruin the appeal? Would we go through all kinds of immigration difficulties only to find ourselves sitting in London daydreaming about Seattle in October?
Or did my stork just get lost and I've finally found home?