The Wave

Moving to a new country is tough.

Tough in ways that you can not even imagine in the days when you are preparing to leave.  In those days the excitement, the adrenalin and the logistical arrangements carry you forward and onwards.

A wave that gathers momentum and speed.

The wave peaks when you hand over your one way ticket to your new home, board the plane and smiling tell the person at passport control in your new country that you’ve just moved here.

You surf along for those first few weeks propelled by the power of the wave on adrenalin.  It’s a little like being on holidays – there are places to go, food to eat, sites to see!

Inevitably, a wave turns into whitewash and your shipment arrives and you start piecing back together the life you only recently dismantled.  House utilities, insurance, cars, kids activities, hairdressers.  The seemingly endless list of stuff that gives shape and meaning to our lives.

The wave is gone then.

You may find yourself surfacing in the shallows with sand embedded in the crotch of your swimsuit and salt water in your mouth, dizzy, wondering which way is up.

This, for me, was the hardest part.  The “now what?” stage.

Take a minute (or a week or a month).  Do what you need to do.

Then slick your sandy hair back from your face and head away from the wave.

(When I grow up I want to write like my friend, Kirsty.  She writes with a beauty that takes my breath away and her most recent post, She Seemed Fine, is exceptionally moving.  Please, go and read it. It inspired this post.)