It’s not an easy thing to wake up in the wrong country. It makes that hazy moment before your eyes actually open one of low-level dread that it’s all actually happening, but you still have to crawl out of bed earlier than you’d like, and do things for money so you can eat food, in the hope that you’ll wake up to a day where things are less crap.
This is exacerbated by my unwilling repatriation. Years of living in London abruptly, and somewhat dramatically (apologies to the pub for the lingering smell of burning hair), came to an end with the United Kingdom’s (and all of its citizens) unwillingness to put a ring on it. The world is getting smaller and more connected and the first, brick to the face, result of this shift has been fear, swiftly followed by resistance. It’s working out really great for everyone. To see so many nations of world with both hands fisted in the fabric of nationalism so firmly, many of which were on the wrong side of the last pass of this wave, is devastatingly disappointing.
I’ve started my whole life over a few times now. And I’ll do it again. But I don’t want to this time. I’ll do it anyway. Piece together house, job, food, friends, and climate appropriate wardrobe. Because it’s what you do. And valleys end in peaks, right? With about half of the above in place I can honestly say I’ve learned more than I predicted about what I can live with and what I can live without. I need friends; I don’t need close approximations thereof. And I need to work doing something that I believe in.
This whole life malarkey really is a work-in-progress sort of deal. Coping.