It’s coming. Our time in America is almost over. I’ve booked our flights, I’ve got a job starting in September, and I even have a man coming to give me a quote for moving our personal effects (I love how grand that sounds) back to Britain.
There haven’t been many blogs lately, and although that’s probably mostly because toddler A keeps me busy, it’s also because I’ve gone semi-native – like a semi-feral cat, but the other way round. Things here don’t bother me the way they did. One Saturday morning recently, as I walked from the yoga class I love to our favourite coffee shop to the farmers’ market, all in the bright sunshine, chatting to people we’d got to know here, I was genuinely sorry to be leaving. ‘Come on, you don’t have to pretend to like it any more,’ I thought to myself, crossly. But you spend enough time telling Americans politely that there are lots of things you like, and you make the best of living somewhere you never wanted to move, and you pour a lot of effort into making some human connections, and in the end you do feel a sense of belonging, even though you know you don’t belong.
I am going to be doing pretty much my dream job, in certainly my dream city, and only an hour from M’s family. So our ticket out of here is a good one, and, crucially, includes relocation expenses. All the same, the more we’ve settled in to the US, the stranger life back in Britain is bound to be. At the moment I mainly think I’ll miss the near light-speed of service in restaurants, and the near omni-presence of water fountains, but I guess other things will turn up to bother me.
It’s my intention to write a final series of posts about the things I never got round to writing about over the next couple of months. So don’t delete your bookmarks yet.