I don’t feel prepared.
Then again, when was the last time I felt ready for a transition like this? I’m headed to landlocked Bogotá (where I’ll be living, among 12 million neighbors), from Cliff Island, a community of 40 year-round residents. I moved to Cliff after spending a week at home in the suburbs following graduation and saying goodbye to my small college town, to which I returned from an eco-village in Chile, where I moved after finishing my semester studying in Salamanca, Spain…
Each of these shifts seemed abrupt and felt unwelcome as I approached them, finally comfortable in the place where I was, and each of them was more than worth the trouble.
Right now in Maine, nostalgia is compounding in layers like the sheets of fog that are rolling by, and the fog itself is only worsening my homesickness for the field station where I worked in the Bay of Fundy. Stress over securing housing and adjusting to city life is obscuring the euphoria I’d otherwise feel over having secured what has been my dream job since I first set foot in Cartagena.
But it is my dream job: working with students my own age to strengthen one another’s linguistic and cultural knowledge, studying the links between food and identity, living in Colombia and experiencing her vibrant capital city for the first time. So, affection for “my” island and fear of uncertainty aside, this is pretty damn exciting.
In a week I’ll be on that plane, and when it lands I’ll be ready for the adventure of making a home -if only a temporary one; time will tell- for myself in an unfamiliar city.