I am nearing a year. A year of America, a year of marriage, a year of living far far away from 90% of the people I love most. And I sailed past a year of unemployment over a month ago.
One whole year.
And here's the thing. The thing I breathe in and out with relief and thankfulness and more relief:
I'm happy.
Not just happy, I'm happy and I am in love. That quiet stillness that I found on a beach in cape cod almost a year ago has stayed with me. One year on and I love my husband and I'm happy.
Of course I'm not supposed to say I'm relieved. I'm supposed to act as though I knew all along that this would work and we'd be happy. But I am not a person that ever really knows anything, and there were quite a few massive variables at play. Things like us not having lived on the same continent in years and my frightening potential for being completely overwhelmed by homesickness. This whole year has been a massive exercise in trust for me. Trusting myself that I made the right decision to move and marry, trusting Jeremy that he trusted himself, trusting in God for strength and the ability to take the year one day at a time.
And now, one year on I can say that I know:
I know that J and I work, that when we argue we make up within the hour and that he can make me smile even on my darkest and mopeyest of days. I know that I'm resilient enough to live 3000 miles away from family and still be happy, even though I miss them every day. I know that missing people doesn't equal misery, that the fact of having people to miss is in a way a blessing. I know that I am stubborn enough to hold onto my accent, even if occasionally when asking for water or butter or informing J's grandma that the soup flavour is tomato, I have to begrudgingly drop 't's and alter vowels, just for the ease of being understood. I know that I can make friends and, through doing so, that I can still be myself here - with my funny accent and love of pashminas - that the 'spark' of 'me' is not lost in this big new world.
I know I can be ok.
A year ago today, I was one sleep away from moving to America, and I did not 'know' any of the above. I only hoped and trusted for it - based on the knowledge of years of loving Jeremy and knowing myself.
Thank God it all turned out OK.
Seriously.
Fraud
For the next three weeks I have the use of a car, which is good but it also completely negates all excuses for not driving on my own. I have driven on my own a bit, but only really on routes I already know well and only short distances. Today I drove on the highway to a previously unvisted destination. And I didn't die.
Yesterday I drove to the supermarket and bought groceries (I've completely forgotten what we'd say in lieu of groceries in England... is it just 'food'?).
Yes I know this is all very mundane, and when I demand praise from Jeremy for such things, he looks at me like I'm asking for praise for learning to tie shoe-laces or count to ten, but it comes with the weirdest feeling. I feel exactly like an adult in disguise. As if I've donned adult clothing and am moving around undetected amongst other adults, but really I know I'm only an impostor.
I'm wondering whether this feeling will ever rub off, or whether it's just going to get worse when I'm a home owner or parent. And when I get wrinkles and grey hair, is it just going to feel like a more elaborate disguise? I'm not saying I feel young in that 'you're only as young as you feel' sort of BS, I'm saying I feel incompetent and unworthy. A total fraud.
To make matters worse I got asked if I was a teenager today.
It seems the disguise isn't all that good.
Yesterday I drove to the supermarket and bought groceries (I've completely forgotten what we'd say in lieu of groceries in England... is it just 'food'?).
Yes I know this is all very mundane, and when I demand praise from Jeremy for such things, he looks at me like I'm asking for praise for learning to tie shoe-laces or count to ten, but it comes with the weirdest feeling. I feel exactly like an adult in disguise. As if I've donned adult clothing and am moving around undetected amongst other adults, but really I know I'm only an impostor.
I'm wondering whether this feeling will ever rub off, or whether it's just going to get worse when I'm a home owner or parent. And when I get wrinkles and grey hair, is it just going to feel like a more elaborate disguise? I'm not saying I feel young in that 'you're only as young as you feel' sort of BS, I'm saying I feel incompetent and unworthy. A total fraud.
To make matters worse I got asked if I was a teenager today.
It seems the disguise isn't all that good.
Mouse-trap.
Our apartment has mice. They're fairly polite - they don't come out and scare me or eat the bread we store on top of the microwave. They stay in one particular cupboard and only occasionally make noise enough to prevent me from denying their existence. I've been ignoring them because a) I don't want them to exist and it seems a good way to go about things and b) we're moving. soon. and I'm putting off all unpleasant jobs in this house until I no longer live here and don't have to do them.
That is until yesterday when Jeremy produced mousetraps I didn't know we had and decided to catch them. What follows is an instant-messaging conversation and the drama that ensued.
me: I think we may have just attempted to trap a mouse...
Jeremy: what do you mean?
That is until yesterday when Jeremy produced mousetraps I didn't know we had and decided to catch them. What follows is an instant-messaging conversation and the drama that ensued.
me: I think we may have just attempted to trap a mouse...
Jeremy: what do you mean?
me: I heard the trap go.And I don't want to find out
Jeremy: oh yeah? I emptied it this morn
me: serious? ugh
Jeremy: yeah
me: please PLEASE can we make an offer this week?????
Jeremy: theres a plastic bag with a mouse outside teh door. Ha.
me: nice
... (10 minutes or so pass)
Jeremy: did you check the mousetrap?
me: nope. Because if I check it and it has a dead mouse in it, I'll have to do something about it and I really
don't want to
don't want to
Jeremy: you just lift the spring
me: right but there's a dead mouse underneath it. I don't like dead animals much
Jeremy: me either
me: no but they're yours.
Jeremy: why
me: I'm not sure but they are
me: I didn't set the traps
Jeremy: I did because of you
me: no you did because you got fed up of losing chickpeas.I was perfectly happy pretending that I didn't know they were there but now there's a dead one so I can't do that anymore.
The conversation ends there but in my head I know that there's a dead mouse in the chickpea cupboard. There are cans and stuff in there too, but I'm guessing the mouse was mostly interested in the dried chickpeas, of which there are many. I steel myself and go and look in the cupboard. Sure enough there's a mouse in the trap. What I wasn't prepared for was quite how mouse-like it looked, or how big its eyes were.
What follows is a comedic and stereotypically female response involving rubber gloves, a phone call to Jeremy, tears (of sadness for the mouse, illogical fear for me and hilarity, all rolled into one) and much hopping to and fro. I cover the mouse with a shroud (made of kitchen towel) so that I don't have to look at it and attempt to release it from the trap and into its grave (made of a plastic bag outside the back door...Jeremy's earlier mouse is also in it so it's fast becoming a mass grave). Cue more hopping, heart racing, tears and one bit where I thought it wasn't completely dead and dropped it on the floor. Eventually I get it together and deposit the mouse into the bag and wash my hands about 10 times.
I do not reset the trap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)