Expat life is strange. On the one hand, I love the adventure, the novelty, the opportunity to get to know a different culture in an in-depth way, seeing my kids grow and develop and correct my Spanish. I love the mountains I see all around, friendly people who take the time to stop and smile and ask me how my day is going (and really mean it!), the help around the house. I can’t imagine going back to the States at this point.
On the other hand, seeming out of nowhere, I am hit with bouts of homesickness. As I am coaching a client on Skype, I see an IKEA toy organizer in the background and built-in bookshelves full of books (this is not a big reading culture), and I want to cry. A wave of homesickness washes over me. I remember the clean streets, the public parks, the multiculturalism, the restaurants from all over the world, being able to speak the English language and understand all of it nuances. I remember what it felt like to understand the culture and know how to navigate in it. I miss our friends and family.
I still don’t want to go back but it’s nice to know that I miss home. Makes the thought of returning eventually kind of sweet.