I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to put down roots. For someone who dislikes change as much as I do, I think it strange I should have such a gypsy heart. I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied with settling down, planting my feet in the dirt, and growing deep into the soil of a place. I have fantasies that one day we will settle in a small New England town where we will call the postman Junior, I will own an inn and frequent the town diner, and everyone will know our names and our favorite flavor of ice cream. And then I realize I'm dreaming of a Gilmore Girls episode, and I'll never own an inn or be witty in real life.

I also fantasize about moving to London again and living the big city life, where we are surrounded by interesting people who do big city things. There, I will follow in the footsteps of my literary heroes, and we will live near the river and drink copious amounts of tea from a place called Orange Pekoe. And then I realize I'm dreaming of the life I used to live, before my husband developed an aversion to rainy weather and I birthed three kids. Still, I feel the soil of the city clinging to my feet.

We have one year left before we have to pull up the tender roots growing down around Switzerland. They'll never grow deep here, and I hold the loveliness of this place lightly in my hands. But, I wonder about the future and, truth be told, I worry.We are told we can always go home again, but when we do, we realize we are not the same. Each street and town and country leaves a mark on our DNA. We change, we grow different, molded into a new shape influenced by the people and places we discover. We find the things which delight us in one place, may not delight us in another. The land that inspires and feeds a dream in the early years, may not nourish us in the years to come. And some places don't nourish us at all.

I don't know where we will be in a year. I don't know if we'll have to bend ourselves into the shape of a place, or if the place will shape itself around us. But I do know it will always leave it's mark.

Tell me where your putting down roots. How is it changing you?

This is part three of a smallish series about living out your story. My story happens to include living overseas and traveling a lot, but it's really about the bigger picture; about contentment, acceptance and taking our deepest desires and fashioning a life out of them.


If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that in the last ten years we have moved from PA to London to NJ to Zurich. That's not considered a lot of moving among most expat circles, but for a risk averse person such as myself it is enough.

Each move has come with it's own set of challenges, which I refer to collectively as 'Kimberly'. I tend towards over-dramatization. And an ungrateful spirit. And did I mention I'm risk averse? What all of these character flaws amount to is discontent, and discontent will literally destroy the ability to live out your story. Or in this case, my story.

The truth is that living out our story is messy and unpredictable. It is challenging, it has unexpected twists, and it probably doesn't look anything like we think it should. I spent two years living in London before I emotionally committed to my life there. I then fought, rather bitterly, against our move to New Jersey. I cried about the location, the house, and the church. I perked up a bit when I discovered the joy that is Target, but it wasn't all sparkles and rainbows.



It was in that place, one I considered completely lacking in interest, beauty or excitement, that I began to learn what it means to be content in all situations. Contentment is seeing each moment, each small handful of wildflowers, each sunny day or short line at the grocery store, each breath as a gift. They are all gifts, whether or not they take place in New Jersey or Zurich or the place that you call home.

I have good days and bad. I still on occasion have buyer's remorse over our decision to move overseas again. But I am content. Content to take each day as the gift that it is.

Kimberly

PS This was supposed to post days ago, but both blogger and my internet service have been down.

If you are wondering what it takes to make a successful international move, I can tell you the number one must have is a husband who is fearless.  I am not brave.  I do not handle change easily.  I am introverted and get nervous in new situations, particularly when I don't understand the rules.  Apparently the Swiss like rules, lots and lots of rules.

How do I know this?  Well, I've been told by everyone who has ever had any experience in Switzerland.  How else do I know this?  Because it only took two days before my fearless husband was pulled over by police for a traffic violation.  He was videotaped crossing a few painted white lines.  As Americans, we usually consider these lines to be mere "suggestions".  Not so much with the Swiss.  Oh dear.

We Americans with our pioneering spirit and "can do" attitude may find life here a little more challenging than first expected.  Here we must pay for grocery bags, in an effort to force going green with reusable bags.  We must deposit money for a shopping cart, to encourage replacing said cart in the cart return aisle.  I ask you, what would happen if people used a few too many plastic bags, left their carts sitting in the parking garage, and crossed a few well drawn lines?  Mayhem and madness, that's what.  Or in other words, a regular day in the USA.

Kimberly  

...we have upended everything.  I can't begin to write about the goodbye's yet.  They are too fresh.  I would rather write about the view from my living room window.

Next week is our last "normal" week at home before the movers come to pack.  Nothing here feels normal at the moment.  There are boxes and new furniture squeezed into every corner of the house.  Michael, ever the ambitious handy man, has ripped the upstairs bathroom down to the studs. There's dirt and grime on every surface. No, normal it is not.  For goodness sake, my daughter has a toilet sitting in her bedroom.

I am spending most days sorting through things, deciding what will go to long term storage, what will be shipped by air (my own pillows, please), and what can be shipped by sea.  Although I'm not responsible for packing, there are many logistics to consider.  I met with a man from the shipping company a few days ago to discuss.  I shall refer to him as Big Haired Mover.

Big Haired Mover tried to explain how much would fit into this container, or that one.  I failed to mention that I am extremely spatially challenged (um, hello, I can't parallel park), and instead nodded my head politely as if I understood what he was saying. I did not.  Who can be expected to know what 1500 lbs looks like, Mr. Big Haired Mover?

As if this weren't enough excitement, in another brilliant move, I decided to have some sun spots lasered off of my face.  MY FACE!!!  I now look like I have a flesh eating disease, and am contemplating wearing a ski mask to our going away party.  Not my best decision.

Oh well.  Life is a series of good and not so good decisions.  I'm making the best of it.  Toilets, leprosy-like sores and all.

Kimberly

It's been a while, friends.  I am still suffering from a bit of jet lag, and feeling more than a little overwhelmed with everything we need to accomplish before our move.  Three weeks is a very short time to pull an international move together.

By week's end, I am tired and more than a little cranky.  Michael was in Zurich this week viewing homes, touring schools, and completing a highly technical reconnaissance mission at the grocery store.  His report?  They carry paper goods and frozen pizza.  Highly technical indeed.

It seems the housing and school situation might be a bit more challenging.  It's not quite as simple as perusing the aisles and choosing something off the shelf.  Our move to London in 2001 seems infinitely easier by comparison.  We were just a wee family of three at the time.  I suppose when you add two more kids and a dog to the mix, things are bound to become more complicated.

P.S. Complicated is not something I do well.

So, I am left to console myself with thoughts of fondue, chocolate and alpine views.  It helps.  Especially the chocolate.

Kimberly

Some time ago I mentioned that we were planning an international move.  Then everything went a bit quiet.  After much waiting, praying, and quite honestly, stressing, we finally have a signed contract in hand.  Cue the Hallelujah chorus.