At 8:00am this morning my house on the hill was quiet and dark. I put a pumpkin pie in the oven, made a cup of coffee, and opened the curtains of my living room. Light crawled slowly into the windows as I crawled into the couch. I wrapped myself up in a blanket, hugged my coffee cup with the palms of my hands, and left the remnants of last night’s dinner party sitting in a quiet mess on the dining room table. Everything felt still and there was nothing to say or think, I was simply caught in moment of blissful suspension. I didn’t have to do anything or make anything of that moment, and perhaps that made it even richer. I just soaked it in, felt my eyes swinging gently toward the morning sky. Like the Cune Rioja sitting open on the table, my heart had been opened and poured some of itself out, but what remained inside, perhaps, was more essential.
That’s what you notice when you move to another country and you have nothing to count on but your own internal trust and knowing. If you weren’t in touch with them before, you wonder later how you ever did it without them. You decide it’s a good time to start clinging to what only you can experience, instead of clinging to the things that you hope will make them want to experience you. It’s a version of freedom, which comes in many forms and looks different for everyone.
For me, 18 months in a foreign country with a new language, a profession on pause, a once-tenuous relationship, and so much time on my hands I that I thought I’d write a book called, “Time Is NOT Valuable,” has resulted in feeling the happiest, the most solid, and the most emotionally open I have ever felt in my life. For the last several weeks I’ve been reveling in these changes and feeling a deep appreciation for the wonderful people I’ve made friendships with since arriving here. It’s my time spent with them that have made so many changes come about, after all. It’s an exciting time to close one adventurous chapter and be looking forward to the next, and the next. I think it only gets better from here.