Dear Elle,
After a long visit back home in the States, it's been fascinating readjusting to life overseas. I was worried that I'd dissolve into annoyance; I certainly hadn't held back from spoiling myself with all the things unavailable here-- Starbucks, Target, and Panera, oh my! So far, though, I've been safe from such a slump. I wake in the morning and feel gratified to hear the older children already running about in the hallways, chattering animatedly to one another and to Albert as he prepares for work. I roll over in the pale light of our bedroom and snuggle the baby, kissing his cheeks until he giggles and swapping his diaper out for a new one before we head downstairs. I make sure Armand has his things ready for school, reminding him to brush his teeth and balancing the baby on my hip while I run a wet comb over his cowlicks. Moments later I watch the bus disappear down the alley with him aboard, and I can just imagine him strapped into his seat, kicking his feet in the air the way he does when he's excited.
This is how I've felt since we've been back: kicking the air with anticipation for all that awaits us.
I know that sounds simple and contrived a little, maybe naive... but we've had years where it seemed everything was just a hike--an uphill hike--and this does not feel like it will be one of those, at least not just yet.
Or perhaps it's just my mindset that's different. Last year was our first one here, and it was all lessons. I had to learn how to drive in a country without road etiquette, how to connect with a culture vastly different from my own, how to raise a family in a place that feels like a gray fairytale sometimes with its constant surprises. Certainly after only a year (some of which was spent, as I said, back home) we are not beyond the reach of acclimation. But the settling is coming easier this time around, and I feel affection for those around me without having to work at it, and these two truths are a great comfort to me.
Last week I was idling at a red light, eying my sideview mirrors for over-eager drivers squeezing between lanes to gain a few car-lengths of position. The sky was overcast and the pedestrians moving past on the sidewalks held their collars against their necks, heads down into the wind. My inner music box began playing the song I've adopted since I crossed oceans and borders to come here with my family: the melody of stories, countless stories swirling around me. I want to know them all, as impossible as that is. I'll search them out and hear some, and I think that will be enough to change me... continue changing me, in the best way.
What about you? You've all been back in the States for awhile now: Do you long to return overseas? How is it being back "home" after the years being "out"?
Here's to a good year, Elle.
-Victoria
Dear Victoria,
I’m sitting at the window, trying to collect my thoughts. Outside, the clouds are low and thick. The wind is pushing empty swings. Daffodils grow in bunches in my garden. The ground is soft; the grass is tinged with a fresh, new green. It seems right that you should write to me of new beginnings when here we are, edging closer and closer to spring.
I lived in Japan two years ago when the earthquake happened, when the tsunami happened, and if I let myself I can still get lost in that slow, unfolding, nuclear disaster. We were so frightened. When my husband was called in to help, I had to evacuate myself and our two, small children. For months, our family was divided. Afterward, I didn’t know what to expect. I waited until the risk seemed small and then I brought my children home to Japan, to a place that both was and wasn’t home for me, and still without my husband. I remember it all so well: the nervousness, the anticipation, the eagerness to plunge back into adventure and the fear of starting over. What I didn’t expect, though, was that coming back to Japan never felt like starting over. I picked up a life I’d already begun, with friends I’d already made, in a culture I already knew and respected. I felt at ease there, and eager, and so unexpectedly peaceful.
Making a home is never easy. Whether you’re in a country you know or a country that’s entirely unfamiliar, there’s always loneliness at first. There’s always adjustment. I’ve felt it everywhere we’ve ever lived, and I feel it now. But those moments you described, those baby snuggles in the morning light, that wet comb over a stubborn cowlick, are homemaking at work. I’m so glad you see it. Keep feeling hopeful. Kick your feet in the air, let the stories swirl around you, relish in how far you’ve come, and enjoy the sweetness!
Elle
After a long visit back home in the States, it's been fascinating readjusting to life overseas. I was worried that I'd dissolve into annoyance; I certainly hadn't held back from spoiling myself with all the things unavailable here-- Starbucks, Target, and Panera, oh my! So far, though, I've been safe from such a slump. I wake in the morning and feel gratified to hear the older children already running about in the hallways, chattering animatedly to one another and to Albert as he prepares for work. I roll over in the pale light of our bedroom and snuggle the baby, kissing his cheeks until he giggles and swapping his diaper out for a new one before we head downstairs. I make sure Armand has his things ready for school, reminding him to brush his teeth and balancing the baby on my hip while I run a wet comb over his cowlicks. Moments later I watch the bus disappear down the alley with him aboard, and I can just imagine him strapped into his seat, kicking his feet in the air the way he does when he's excited.
This is how I've felt since we've been back: kicking the air with anticipation for all that awaits us.
I know that sounds simple and contrived a little, maybe naive... but we've had years where it seemed everything was just a hike--an uphill hike--and this does not feel like it will be one of those, at least not just yet.
Or perhaps it's just my mindset that's different. Last year was our first one here, and it was all lessons. I had to learn how to drive in a country without road etiquette, how to connect with a culture vastly different from my own, how to raise a family in a place that feels like a gray fairytale sometimes with its constant surprises. Certainly after only a year (some of which was spent, as I said, back home) we are not beyond the reach of acclimation. But the settling is coming easier this time around, and I feel affection for those around me without having to work at it, and these two truths are a great comfort to me.
Last week I was idling at a red light, eying my sideview mirrors for over-eager drivers squeezing between lanes to gain a few car-lengths of position. The sky was overcast and the pedestrians moving past on the sidewalks held their collars against their necks, heads down into the wind. My inner music box began playing the song I've adopted since I crossed oceans and borders to come here with my family: the melody of stories, countless stories swirling around me. I want to know them all, as impossible as that is. I'll search them out and hear some, and I think that will be enough to change me... continue changing me, in the best way.
What about you? You've all been back in the States for awhile now: Do you long to return overseas? How is it being back "home" after the years being "out"?
Here's to a good year, Elle.
-Victoria
Dear Victoria,
I’m sitting at the window, trying to collect my thoughts. Outside, the clouds are low and thick. The wind is pushing empty swings. Daffodils grow in bunches in my garden. The ground is soft; the grass is tinged with a fresh, new green. It seems right that you should write to me of new beginnings when here we are, edging closer and closer to spring.
I lived in Japan two years ago when the earthquake happened, when the tsunami happened, and if I let myself I can still get lost in that slow, unfolding, nuclear disaster. We were so frightened. When my husband was called in to help, I had to evacuate myself and our two, small children. For months, our family was divided. Afterward, I didn’t know what to expect. I waited until the risk seemed small and then I brought my children home to Japan, to a place that both was and wasn’t home for me, and still without my husband. I remember it all so well: the nervousness, the anticipation, the eagerness to plunge back into adventure and the fear of starting over. What I didn’t expect, though, was that coming back to Japan never felt like starting over. I picked up a life I’d already begun, with friends I’d already made, in a culture I already knew and respected. I felt at ease there, and eager, and so unexpectedly peaceful.
Making a home is never easy. Whether you’re in a country you know or a country that’s entirely unfamiliar, there’s always loneliness at first. There’s always adjustment. I’ve felt it everywhere we’ve ever lived, and I feel it now. But those moments you described, those baby snuggles in the morning light, that wet comb over a stubborn cowlick, are homemaking at work. I’m so glad you see it. Keep feeling hopeful. Kick your feet in the air, let the stories swirl around you, relish in how far you’ve come, and enjoy the sweetness!
Elle
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