megfowler.com

Been a while again, mmm?

Gah, I know.

I find that my ability to write blog posts here (I’ve written plenty elsewhere, for clients and causes and whatnot) has failed a little in the past year or so. I don’t really know why.

Too burned out from my day-to-day work? Too much to write about to know where to begin? Too busy living? Too lazy? Too many sentences beginning with “too”?

It’s probably a combination of all of them (save for the last… that simply isn’t possible.)

But let’s move on to what’s actually been happening, rather than focusing on what I’ve not been doing.

YES!

I’ve been with my parents for the last three weeks, biding my time until I get a work visa into the US — Boston, to be exact (but you knew that.)

I don’t talk about any of the process here or anywhere because I really can’t and I really shouldn’t and I really won’t. Bandying big legal or governmental details around the internet is a sure path to complication, and despite my tendency to be overly complicated, well… this isn’t something I want to mess up.

I know when I have a good thing going.

I made the choice to move there, of course, when I fell in love with Gradon. It wasn’t even a hard choice to make. Plenty of the stuff around that choice is hard, sure, but falling in love and choosing to follow love was about as tough as falling off a log.

And I’ve done that, so I know.

I am going there (rather than him moving here) because he has a beautiful son — and I say that objectively, without genetic blinders, I promise, the kid is fantastic — and it is important that Gradon be near him. And even more important, it is essential that this lovely kid have his Dad nearby.

Simple call, right?

Which makes it entirely unlike the actual moving process.

People ask me for advice on how to move to a different country, or ask me what the best process is, and here’s what I’ve learned: it’s not the same for anyone. Ever. Even when all this is said and done and I can say more? Eh… I’ll want to talk about other stuff because it will be done.

Anyway, I moved in with my parents for two reasons: first, because I didn’t want to sign a new apartment lease… I wanted to be free to go when I could go; and second, I wanted the concentrated time with my mom and dad before I left.

Aside from being related to me — a sure measure of quality, if ever there was one (cough cough cough) — they’re actually the most loving, most thoughtful, most sacrificial, most hilarious, most clever people you could ever hope to have for a family. I will miss them impossibly much when I go, even as they will only ever be a phone call or a plane ticket away.

Which is why the phone calls and plane tickets will flow.

Now for the rest of the story.

An inventory of the time since I arrived:

Innumerable hours spent swearing at remote desktop and VPN connections that surely want me dead

Many hours of remote work (not in the sense that I feel distant from it, but simply that I accomplish it from a distance)

Many hours of sharing with either parent in making gentle fun of the other parent, depending on the day

Many hours of fun AND rewarding television (they watch good PBS mysteries and crime shows, which are far more compelling than my usual fare of food shows and sportscasts and painful Bravo reality shows that no one wants to admit they watch, yet EVERYONE IS WATCHING ON THEIR TINY SCREENS WHEN I FLY JETBLUE, AREN’T YOU? DON’T LIE!)

Many hours of iChatting Gradon, with cameo appearances by my parents

Many hours of time spent being an overfilled-brain insomniac in the perfectly comfy guest bed

Many hours spent looking atrocious in varying tank-top-and-yoga-pant ensembles, apparently with the goal of “letting myself go” with witnesses

Several hours cooking dinners — something my mom yields her kitchen to allow me to do, and something that is probably my biggest stress reliever (including manicotti, chili with fresh salsa, steak, roasted chicken, penne with sausage…)

Several hours spent climbing up and down stairs (they have a lot of stairs here)

Several hours spent drinking entire pots of coffee (stop trying to link it to the insomnia! stop it!)

Several hours spent in my Dad’s church, singing hymns extra-loud and feeling blessed to know someone so wise

Several hours spent exploring the nearby US with my Mom, singing along with the radio extra-loud, and feeling blessed to know someone so wise

Several hours indulging my magazine addiction

24 hours spent commemorating my parents’ 40th anniversary (wow!)

Exactly 13 hours with my mom on lunch hours we called “Glunches” watching the first 13 episodes of “Glee” on DVD (me again, my mom for mostly the first time)

About 30 seconds holding my parents’ demonic cat to remove it from my bed and place it down the hallway, during which time it did a full-on Linda-Blair-pre-Exorcism impression

Things I have consumed mass quantities of in the past three weeks:

Welch’s Grape Juice (white AND purple varieties)
Crushed ice (their fridge just MAKES the stuff)
Raw vegetables with dip
Tiny meringues
Cadbury Cream Eggs
Tortilla chips
The aforementioned coffee

Things I’ve thought about a lot in the past three weeks:

Distance
Love
Compromise
God
Trust
Meaning
Grace
The aforementioned coffee

Things I have grown to love even more in the past three weeks, even if that doesn’t seem possible:

Gradon
Mom
Dad
(Coffee love remains steady and unchanging)

The rest of this post:

I don’t think I’ve made it through a single day without wanting to cry since I got here. Sometimes I give in, sometimes I don’t.

But there are so many reasons why it happens.

I’m worried. I’m thrilled. I’m terrified. I’m excited. I’m overwhelmed. I’m all of these things at once.

I’m sure it’s a totally natural reaction, the wanting to cry.

I hated it at first, though, because crying to me felt like throwing my composure into a blender and taking it for a spin. What if I couldn’t put myself back together?

Then I did.

Then I did again.

And I do.

Remarkably, I can do all the falling apart I want nowadays, and yet still feel more whole in any given second than I ever have before.

That’s how I know I’m doing the right thing.

And that’s all I have for tonight.