Standing On the Corner

On a rainy day, to make the journey to Andrew's speech therapist becomes, rather than a 15 minute bike ride, a two-bus journey. We catch the first just outside our street, ride it for two stops and then transfer to the second bus. It's not difficult and since Andrew enjoys cupping hands around his mouth and shouting "STOP BUS STOP!" as the big vehicle approaches, getting the the chance to call two buses in rapid succession is a heady bonus.

Tuesday morning, while Andrew and I waited for the second bus we chatted away about all the things he could see: cars passing on the road, the rain drops on the bench, the broken glass on the ground, the way the wind was bending the trees. Given that he is pretty irresistible when he is prattling away, a woman who had been waiting alongside and watching the exchange leaned forward and said to Andrew "Hallo!".

At which point he completely clammed up.

I quickly explained to her that Andrew doesn't speak much Dutch, and will hardly speak English to a stranger. She smiled and said she understood, and then as is inevitable when a Nederlander hears my accent, she asked, in English, about us. Were we on holiday or did we live here? Where were we from? The perfunctory get to know you questions rolled off her tongue and I answered in kind.

In that exchange I was struck once again by the permanence of a Dutch life. This woman, like most of the Dutch I know, was born here in The Hague, grew up here in The Hague, had raised her children here in The Hague, and will be living here in The Hague for the remainder of her days. Her life is not a rarity. I find this same story (change the location) again and again as I swap travelogues with my friends in the local culture.

It sits in strong juxtaposition to my own life, this staying put, and I am as fascinated by the idea as I am afraid of it. In truth, I simply cannot imagine it.

Even as a child, growing up in the Salt Lake City valley, I didn't have a single home. I had several. We moved often enough in those early years as our family grew, that I attended 4 different elementary schools. At my insistence upon reaching middle school age I stayed in the same school, but moved house an additional four times in those years before completing high school.

I suppose I was set up for the nomad life long before I was choosing it for myself, and I continued the forward momentum of relocation even after Don and I married. This time the nomadic spirit kept the two of us moving from Utah, to Nevada, to Arizona in pursuit of educational goals. Then from Arizona, to Texas, and back to Arizona in a single calendar year in pursuit of the ideal we're-done-with-school-now-what-do-we-do-with-the-rest-of-our-lives JOB.

When we found ourselves with 2 children and our first mortgaged house in Phoenix in 1998, I think we both cringed just a little over the idea that we might be settling down. For real.

Five years further down that road, we had been in Phoenix for a total of eight years, and in Arizona for a complete dozen. For all intents and purposes, we had settled in and established our lives there; we had indeed arrived at that grown up place. With Andrew's arrival, we were a family of five, living the happy suburban life in Phoenix. Good jobs, beautiful home, kids established in school, deep connections formed, lifetime job prospects confirmed, 2 cars in the garage. The bliss list is endless. We had done it, we were settled and content. And yet, itching to do something different. To change it up. To move.

Our path to here--life in The Netherlands--is a story in it's own right. A story which I intend to share soon. But the fact of the matter is, I know this is not the end destination for us. I have a deep seated urge to keep moving in my life. Literally and figuratively. In this way, as in many others I find myself more than a bit on the outside of the culture I am living within. Certainly though, I find myself in good company with the other "internationals" and expats here. In fact, my nomadic life pales in comparison to many others.

I don't know where we will be next, or when that will be, but I know--for me--there is more to see, more to experience, more to be than can be found in one place.

Thus, here I am, standing on the corner, and wondering what is just around the bend.