We've passed the two year mark of this wild adventure. It has felt like two seconds. It has felt like two decades. We don't know what is coming; we do know we can never go back. There have been moments of supreme clarity and beauty. There have been just as many moments of frustration and regret. The expat experience isn't something that can be written up and shared in a glossy brochure. It can't be explained away as one thing or another. It can't be understood completely by those who haven't been there. And each experience is so unique, one cannot even completely share it with those who have been there either. So, we end up not talking about it much. Sure, you answer the questions from those at home and you commiserate with your fellows about milk prices and inexplicable bureaucratic hurdles in your country of residence. But, the other stuff, the stuff that no one else would really get ends up being packed away, tucked in a journal, filed in that part of the brain that shapes who you become. Two years. Two years that haven't been remotely like any two years before. Two years that are so different from everyone else's. Two years that you wouldn't trade for any other two on offer. How do you explain that? You can't. I, more often than not, find myself speechless at their immensities. I don't know if there will ever be a point when I can sum this up in a crisp concise way that can make any sense to anyone. Maybe I'll just fumble with it for the rest of my life.
The good? The good stuff goes on and on forever. You can't list it all, but I'm going to give it a go anyway. The best part is standing in the middle of somewhere you never thought you'd stand, looking at something so incredible there's a lump in your throat that makes you want to scream, "Look at this! Look at this, dammit! This is what it's about!" Or it's a conversation with someone you never would have met any other way, someone who in a huge or small way will influence your life. It's the conversations you would never have in your hometown, big conversations about life and death; conversations that have you rethinking just about everything. It's the moments that are absolutely terrifying, those moments where you are on the brink of becoming paralyzed with fear but realize you have to keep moving. Those moments change you. You don't go back to who you were before. Then again, sometimes it's all about the calm, the calm that comes with being completely broken from everything and everyone that used to define you. But, there's lots of good in trying to share what they're like with those you encounter in the new place. It's the liberation that comes when you know you never have to see the same place twice, the realization that tomorrow can be completely different and even the mundane is a revelation. The good comes when you finally can be who you want to be every single day. It comes with the slow comprehension that this life isn't something you win at. Each day is a gift to explore, and do, and live a life you always wanted to try. It's immersing yourself in something you dreamed of being immersed in. It's not about being the champion expat with the longest "been there" list, the cleanest house, the busiest social schedule, the mastery of the local dialect, the most well-rounded children, the best bizarre food stories. That's not the good. The good are things seen, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt that wouldn't be profound to anyone else. The good isn't in the pages of the guidebook. It's moments short or endless. The good is the reason we're here. The good makes us better. The good makes us grateful. The good has the power to tip the scales.
The bad? The bad is stuff that can't be talked about. It's not the inspiring things. It's the stuff that has you screaming, not in joy, but alone in your room so no one hears it. It's the stuff that you're not proud of. It's the stuff that breaks you down to the brink of retreating into yourself. It's the confusion, the endless, always present confusion. It's being left, ignored, drowning in the confusion as other's walk along the river bank without even looking your way. It's the sad understanding that you don't belong where you are and you never will no matter how long you remain there. It's having the experience of being unwelcome all too often no matter how much you smile, apologize, and kowtow. It's the loneliness. It's knowing that your loved ones are going through life's ups and downs without you. It's being unable to offer comfort in tragedy. It's watching from a distance and being powerless to intervene as someone jumps off a cliff of a mistake. It's missing the incredible triumphs too. The bad is being just a cliche, a walking flag. It's having to explain where you come from, a place that everyone already has an opinion about. It's trying to balance that with the fact that you love your country and despite everything, you are proud of it. It's the inner battle to reign in the incredibly angry side of you that can't stand all the things that would be classified as "idiotic/horrible/criminal/totally wrong" back home but are completely normal where you are. It's bad knowing that no matter how you explain the bad, no one is going to take it seriously. You're living in Europe, quit whining. But the bad is there for a reason. It makes us grateful too. It teaches us lessons. It challenges us to take it, mold it, and turn it into good.
These two years are all that and so much more. It's been way beyond a trip to the sea, cheering at a cycle race in Flanders, delving into the caves of prehistoric civilization, climbing mountain passes in Switzerland, tasting rare cheeses in Paris, laughing with friends in centuries old pubs, visiting long lost homelands, and being moved to tears.
Being an expat is a mishmash of the crazy good, the crazy bad, and the just plain crazy. It can't be explained in a way that makes any real sense. But, there is one thing that I can say clearly about these two years. I know that they have changed my life, they are vital, they are priceless. I cannot imagine nor would I want a life in which they didn't happen. Hopping on that plane over two years ago to take that plunge is one of best decisions we ever made. They are our two, painful, gorgeous, profound years. And that's that.
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