It’s been a week since we landed, and I’m feeling sentimental. Thinking back, we’ve already made some major adjustments over these few days. The first day was by far the hardest, starting with the drive from the airport to our apartment. It was, perhaps, my rock-bottom.
Imagine the experience; you’ve just flown through the night and now find yourself hurtling over highway in the opposite direction you’re programmed to travel in. Everything seems wrong; each round-about like a Tim Burton ride through a hellish, backward world, where Christmas is in summer and Easter is in winter and the 4th of July doesn’t even exist.
The windshield wipers are going in perfectly dry weather, because they’re on the side where the blinker is supposed to be, which just provides a bizarre soundtrack to an already very scary event.
It was my moment of highest doubt.
From there, things got progressively better. Over the following days, instead of everything seeming completely upside-down, it was just a tad off center. The fear and uneasiness slowly faded to a slighter degree of displacement. It was like looking down and discovering you’re wearing two different shoes, or realizing you forgot deodorant.
Wait, not that this happens.
And today, on my one-week anniversary, I realize I’ve made it to a point close to belonging. I’m at home in my own skin again.
Instead of pulling from my reserve tank of make-do and positive-thinking, I’m more deeply excited about our actual future here. Who knows how many years we’ll stay, but those could be really great, growing years. I think we can do it. It’s good to feel orientated and hopeful.
And I’m remembering deodorant, again, which can only be a good thing.
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