Adaptation

I was reflecting the other day about the move to Belfast.  That move was one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life.  I never thought in a million years when Dave asked me if he could apply for his current position that he would actually get it and we would actually live here for a year.  It was a challenging move for me on many levels.  On one level, I had never before left the North American continent.  Traveling was something that my mom, sister, and husband did – not me.  On another level, I liked living in the United States.  Granted, I had never known anything different, but I enjoyed it just the same.  The night before we left I was a wreck (knowing that I would have to wake up at 2:00 in the morning probably didn’t help, either).  I was worried about the unknown and terrified about what life would be like in a different culture/country/continent.  In general, I do not consider myself an adventurer by nature.  I seek thrills, but adventures, no.  Just like my dad, I genuinely enjoy opportunities where I can get my blood and adrenaline pumping such as parasailing, climbing almost to the top of a mountain, running long distances to see how far I can push my body, etc.  However, all of those activities were (relatively) short excursions where I would be returning to familiarity at the end of the day.  There are so many unknowns when it comes to venturing to a new country, let alone a new continent.  The phrase “Let go and let God” comes to mind, however that is easier said than done.  Letting go is hard for me, and having a lack of control was evident when we first arrived.  For example, we had to figure out cell phones (which are very different here), ways to get heat for our house (involving a method new to me), and set up internet (which is difficult when you can’t understand the technician’s thick Belfast accent).  I had a brief period of relief after we were finally in our house and things were starting to fall into place.  However, after the novelty of a new home wore off, February and March were rough for me.  The culture shock coupled with being homesick both were starting to take their toll on me emotionally and spiritually.  I quickly got tired of people staring at me when I spoke because of my funny accent.  When I went to the grocery store I couldn’t find anything because I couldn’t understand their accent coupled with their terms for everyday items (for example shopping carts became trolleys, canned goods became tinned goods, cookies became biscuits, ketchup became red sauce, chips became crisps and French fries became chips).  I began to focus on how I never thought I would end up here all the while I was trying my best to make sense of it all.  When I was in Michigan in April, one of my friends remarked to me how ironic it was that I was in Belfast because I was the one in high school who always said I wanted to move to northern Michigan and live the rest of my days on a farm.  While that was true, I realized that a lot of things have happened since high school that I never dreamed would, and I wouldn't be who I am today without those experiences.  On my way back to Belfast, all of the delays caused by the FAA furloughs provided me with some good time for reflection.  I began to realize that I am in the middle of an exercise in flexibility and mindfulness.  My dad always preached about living in the moment, and making sure that each step in life is not a rush to get to the next step.  After taking some deep breaths, I’m trying to make that more of my motto.  Instead of counting down the months to January, I trying to count the number of daffodils in the park on Toby's walks (I can’t – there are too many!).  As much as I don’t like to admit it, I am wondering if this is part of God’s plan to cause me to grow, have more flexibility, and be more mindful and aware of things that come once in a lifetime – like an opportunity to live in a diverse, historical place like Belfast.