Let’s Just Leave the Country Again, Shall We?
Yesterday we went luggage shopping, for proper hard-shell wheelie bags, the kind that grown-ups buy. The kind that cost more than, say, free.
It’s not that I don’t own any luggage. I do. I own all the bags and suitcases that people all over the world had already discarded and passed on to me in previous times of epic moving-my-life panic. There’s a stack of them in my parents’ basement, dating back to my Cape Town era at the turn of the century.
This time, I needed something to move my life that wasn’t falling apart already and held together with duct tape and grime, and I needed it quickly.
In about 4 days, I’m moving to the UK.
About three days ago, we suddenly, unexpectedly, received my passport complete with the elusive spouse settlement visa stamped across one of its pages.
About a week before that, we had received yet another terse email from the border agency dudes in Sheffield, saying we still needed to submit Difficult to Procure Chinese Document X if we wanted to be approved, which we promptly did and which they never even acknowledged having received.
Which is why the DHL delivery dude and his little yellow parcel came as such a surprise.
After over three months of non-stop, low-level stress and scurrying and elusive document hunting and bureaucratically critical emails filling my inbox, I was, quite frankly, stunned.
It had all just screeched to a mighty successful stop.
Visa in hand, the reality is sinking in and it’s interesting, to say the least. We have to move quickly as I’m in the last week of my 2nd trimester and flying after that is awkward and complicated, needing doctors’ notes and airlines that are okay with carrying women in their third trimester (many won’t, as a matter of policy).
Thus the hasty quest for wheelie bags yesterday and this morning’s flurry of sorting through my life’s possessions to determine which are essential enough to be included in the 33kg luggage allowance, factoring in a shitload of gifted baby clothes and maternity-friendly clothes. I’ll be leaving a lot behind- again.
Kevin the Panda is one likely victim, as are the Hippo and Elephant. My fabric market silk tunics. My Moroccan lamp, my Indonesian shadow puppets, my absurdly heavy little Buddha statue, all of my books.
All this sorting and mental shuffling and packing and repacking is so familiar to me that it is second nature.
The idea of suddenly leaving and abruptly moving somewhere entirely different, far far away, tossing my current (albeit intentionally temporary) life aside without much fuss or apprehension, jettisoning previously acquired personal detritus, poised to start again with a different combination of clothes and small decorative objects is nothing new. I’ve been doing it for twenty years now on a fairly regular basis; it’s more normal than staying in one place for an extended period of time.
This particular trajectory is both deeply, comfortably familiar (I used to live in London, many moons ago, and spent a good chunk of this summer bouncing around the country) and completely unfathomable (holy fuck, I’m married and having a baby in February and we don’t even have a job or even a city lined up yet).
And come Wednesday afternoon at Gatwick Airport, at a time when my knocked-up app says I should be painting the nursery and nesting and being gentle with myself (don’t lift more than 20 pounds, it bellows with regularity, or you might break yourself or the baby!), I shall be hauling 33kg (+10kg of carry-on baggage) of bags across London then up to Leicestershire and onward to somewhere as yet undetermined to start the next chunk of my life. And I’m cool with that.
I am, however, entering into this new move with a small mental caveat.
About a week ago, my shamanic-healer cousin (Rachel, when your website is up, let me link you here!) treated me to a session of her craft, which brought up one thing that really stuck with me afterward.
It’s all a bit metaphorical, but it goes something like this:
Your self is a flock of seagulls. Each place you go, some seagulls stay behind, not wanting to leave. Then you pick up a whole new bunch of seagulls in your next destination. Eventually, you become a massive mishmashed collection of new and original seagulls from all over the world, with a lot of your original flock scattered across all the places you left. Result: you can feel scattered and a bit uncentered, rooted to nothing. Parts of you are still in Ireland or Cape Town or London or Istanbul or Shanghai or wherever. Parts of you are still at home in Canada. Parts of you may not feel entirely like your original self because you acquired them along the way and you’re still getting to know these weird foreign gulls.
What do you do with this conglomeration of unaffiliated international seagulls? How can we move yet again, without leaving too many gulls behind? How can one find a home (whether tangible or otherwise) for a coherent whole self when global movement is inevitable?
Congrats on the pregnancy! And so very cool you were able to acquire Chinese document. I hear those can be quite difficult to get. I hope your move works out splendidly. 🙂
Thanks! I think the hardest thing to acquire was the year’s worth of detailed bank statements from Bank of China when you aren’t actually in China and able to pop into your local branch (which they kept insisting we must do)! Brutal! Crossing fingers the rest of the move goes smoothly…
Congratulations on your UK spouse settlement visa!
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The thing about seagulls is so spot-on! Like you, I must have seagulls scattered all of the world. It does leave me disoriented, especially now that I’m in a new place with a new baby (fairly new, he’s almost 11 months now) without my “village” to help me raise him. It’s tough, but I think we’ll be in Belgium for a while now, so I’m going to do my best to make this place feel like home. My plan so far has been to haul every little piece of sentimental crap with me, drill holes in the wall and display everything, really put my mark on this house. We’ll see where things go from there.
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Hey love! So excited for your news! To answer your question… I find that what I bring with me is not so important, also where I go. Because I love the same things everywhere. I can cook, read books, and go for walks. Having a regular yoga practice helps. I’m leaving Istanbul after 6 years in a week with two large suitcases and a rolley bag, shipping some books to my parents’ house. That’s it. Wishing you luck on your journey and sending so much love!
As a nomadic sort, I keep myself sane by looking forward rather than backward as much as possible. Of course it is fun to remember good times, but no place remains the same when you revisit it because it is the people (aka seagulls!) that make the place. It takes time sometimes, but there will always be seagulls! Good luck with the move to the UK (just in time for winter too!) Hope the weather is not too brutal!)
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I’m still fairly new to this expat thing, and my experience is admittedly a bit different. But home to me is walking in the door and seeing my husband there, wherever there is. Beyond that, I keep a ton of family photos displayed as well as artifacts from our travels. And kitchen stuff. Being able to cook always makes me feel at home! My gulls are starting to be dispersed around the globe (you included), but I hope to visit them all in due course. Good luck with this next exciting chapter!!
Heather recently posted..Celebrating Autumn at the National Arboretum
In trying to keep myself grounded when I’m bouncing from place to place every two to three days, I’ve spent a significant amount of time reflecting and thinking about traveling, and what it is that I leave behind with others. But it’s more than just a preplanned mode or conscious afterthought. It’s the spontaneity of moments when you’re seeing something wonderful for the first time, or the moment you’re having a laugh with your friends or the persons with whom you’re traveling. It’s not just about what we leave behind, it’s also about we gather in the process. Good move and good trip to the UK!
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Looking at your hippo lady crammed in that box, I suddenly had the feeling it would be a good idea to have a look on my own 35+ year old hippo here, just to be sure it’s still there and well. Found it at the top of a closet, together with some of its pals. It’s pretty grey now and very angry because of all the grease and dust on its nose. So, perhaps this Sunday will be hippo washing day, and maybe I’ll even manage to brush up the big hairy nose bird… 🙂
As for your question: Did I feel the need of a “home”, a defined base for life in a certain place when I shuffled through the world for some years? Hm. I’m not sure. Yes, and no. Somehow, it depends on circumstances, feelings, health, having a job or not, also on things like relationship status, a new spouse or an even newer child. However, when I’ve been around out there I always liked the thought to have a place to go back, mostly just in case things would suddenly turn bad where I currently was. On the other hand, I used my defined home here in Germany rather as a warehouse with a small sleeping and cooking corner during that time. In fact, the flat was merely my depot for personal stuff including all those things I found/got elsewhere. Most of these things I brought there have been (and are) simply a kind of touchable vessels for personal memories. So yes, you could call that the material core of my life – or just the big crap collection that reminds me of people I met, good and sad experiences and times I shared with others. Somehow, keeping such things safely stored away anywhere gave me a virtual feeling of stability, even if you actually don’t have one while living for short periods at frequently changing, sometimes entirely unknown places. So yes, in this regard I always wanted to have a tangible place anywhere. I hope that doesn’t sound too stupid for all of those power-expat-travel-adventure gurus out there.
Then again, in times with more responsibilities for others, there was just an undeniable need for a more stable life including a defined living place and a job that brings in the money you simply need for that. Regarding this, all the plans for a family life, my beloved old warehouse flat didn’t quite match any of the requirements. So, having a far away home during my traveling times has been of no effective help here. Actually, it’s rather been a pretty expensive luxury during my years on the road, not more.
Also, I’m still not too good at living a stable family life myself. However, today many of the things and memories I collected during my travel/expat times help me to keep my itchy feet under the table if there’s a sudden urge to leave. Not always, of course, but quite often, at least…
Conclusion? Perhaps something like “No, getting more grounded doesn’t always mean to give up everything what ever defined yourself before”. I’m sure you’ll get used to a more localized lifestyle, and you’ll be fine as long as you don’t forget that there’s still some interesting non-family things out there. Besides, it’s not that you’ll be actually force to become a stodgy, bourgoise mum-wife combinations just because you’re going through a phase of planning ahead and new responsibilities… um… well, at least not forever. So, cheer up! There might even be lots of fun in your temporarily more settled future… 😉
Congrats on the visa, hooray! I love the seagull thing – and I love that every time I come to your blog you give me a new strange, but totally “oh my god that makes sense” metaphor for me to help makes sense of this itinerant life. Also, why do some seagulls want to stay behind? I miss those seagulls. But at the same time, screw them for not wanting to come along. So many seagull-related emotions now.
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A friend passed this on to me. By friend I mean someone that I talked to for 1 ½ hours last week and now I consider her a friend because I live far away from any place I used to consider home and she’s quirky and energetic and anyone who sends me to this post must be good. We moved to the Middle East from Switzerland 4 years ago. And, like you, purged. Most people move here with a large container shipped to them. We moved here with two children and one suitcase each.
I’m curious to know what made the cut into your suitcase? is there something you always take with you? What keeps you grounded?
For me it’s an interior decorating book. It’s ridiculously bulky & completely impractical but when I’m feeling low, I curl up into bed and look at photos of beautiful rooms with lots of light, window seats, exposed brick, lofty rooms…and I feel myself breathe slowly and deeply again. Worth the weight.