I am drawn to expat blogs. The day-to-day of life in a foreign country fascinates me. A few of my favorites are David Lebovitz, Rue Rude, and Unlikely Diplomat. I envy their ability to pack up, leave behind all that's familiar and start anew. A shop at the grocery store is an adventure (poor Babe was trying to gag down sour cream that her dad thought was yogurt), driving is white-knuckle inducing, and an incoming phone call can be terrifying.
Now that we're parents, the logistics of doing something so bold make me not even want to think about it.
Could we sell the house?
Where will the cats go? I mean, there are 3 of them. My inlaws kind of are at cat saturation level. I think they have 7. Yes, 7 cats. I think our 3 is too many.
Is our furniture worth moving?
Could I tolerate city life?
I still feel that the benefits outweigh the risk. I freeze up when I get overwhelmed, so it would mostly be Scott trying to pack around me.
My perception of home is dynamic. After my mom died, the home I grew up in was no longer home in my mind. If we go to Scott's parents' house for the weekend in our hometown, I will call that going 'back home.' I thought this would change once we bought a house 3 years ago, but this still doesn't feel permanent.
Maybe we're destined to wander.