Provided that everything goes as it should, we will all be on our flight to Seattle at this time tomorrow. The bags are packed, the laptop is backed up, the audiobooks downloaded, the entertainment for the kids carefully selected.
As the last load of laundry is tumbling in the dryer, I (Jenia here) finally find myself able to breathe again. I can sit back, look around, and think of what will come after the drive, the two flights, and another drive to our apartment in Shenzhen. The adventure.
There is a rush to it. I’m grinning as I type because with all the difficulties of an international move (and there are quite a few: the culture, the language, the initial lack of a community, the lack of knowledge on how to do the most mundane things) there is also the joy of starting anew and the trill of discovery. Right now, there is a bit of mystery to it: will we like the apartment? How shall we manage without an oven? Will we really eat rice every day? What will our neighborhood grocery store look like? Will there be palm trees on the property? Will there be other families with young kids around? What will I think of hot pot? Where shall we go on our first school break? Will I get to touch a panda?
There is also a strange feeling of relief. We’ve never set foot in China and yet I feel like we’re returning. I think Muriel Rukeyser whose quote I used as the title of this post said it well, the journey is my home, too.
I have little doubt we’ll settle down one day. I would love to have a house all our own, airy and bright, with room for all the linens, and ceramics, and art we’ve collected while traveling. Yet right now the world is calling and we are answering.