the hard truth about moving overseas

I've been thinking about writing this post for a while. I held off, because I felt like it would be too much to go from not blogging much to blogging about the serious things right away. But then I realized that if I intend to use this as a way to maintain some real connections with the people I love back home, I would be cheating all of us if I only wrote about the superficial happenings of life. Of course, daily life is wonderful and important to talk about as well, but I want this blog to be more than only "last weekend we did this...then we ate that..."

I can't tell you how many times I've heard, "You're moving to Europe? Oh my gosh! How awesome! What a cool adventure! I'm so jealous!" (Technically, Sweden is Scandinavia, but as it's also part of the European Union perhaps they can double-dip and be included in both.) This comment is probably second only to "You seriously need to write a book about your life!" There's no way I can even think about that, when I can't even blog on a regular basis. 

Now, I understand what people are thinking when they refer to this stage of my life as an adventure. Because it is. Marriage, starting a career (well, hopefully), and moving to a new country all constitute serious adventures. And don't get me wrong, each of these monumentous events is exciting and exhilarating and good. Marriage is especially good. I have so much to be thankful for and so, so many things to look forward to.

But I think the thing that people forget, when looking at adventures from the comfort of their couches with a fresh Starbucks in their hands and their entire family within a few hours' travel, is that these adventures that seem so glamorous and romantic and enviable from the outside can be downright miserable to those of us on the other side of it. Sure, moving overseas is exciting and all that. It's also terrifying, and lonely, and frustrating, and all-in-all downright hazardous to the emotional health of everyone who might be close enough for us to contaminate with our own emotional instability. Because believe it or not, Europeans don't spend all their time drinking wine and hiking in the Alps and visiting historical sites and relaxing on the beach. They ride the train, shop for groceries, cook meals, and spend the week at work...which, I hate to break it to you, also means that my daily life is neither exciting nor especially romantic (have I mentioned that Daniel and I are currently living with his parents in a quite small house?). 

The truth of it, of this adventurous, romantic, exciting move overseas, is that I cry more often and more easily than I have in years. I am scared of doing the smallest tasks alone, because what if I needed help, or a stranger talked to me in Swedish and I couldn't answer? I feel utterly incompetent in the kitchen (how am I supposed to bake when I can't find vanilla extract in any store? The pans are the wrong size, yeast packages are massive, and what in the world is a deciliter?!). My social circle consists of Daniel. And his parents. I can't let myself be honest about how lonely I am or I spend the rest of the day fighting off tears. Really thinking about my family, 5000 miles across the Atlantic, leaves a painfully deep, empty ache in my stomach. Every day is a challenge, and all of this leaves me frustrated and critical and negative and depressed and at once overly dependent on Daniel and yet unwilling to allow him to enter in to the pain and struggle of this.

And Daniel, bless him, has been so patient with me and my ridiculous emotional ups and downs. He doesn't get offended when I criticize everything from the lack of chocolate chips to the size of spoons, and he surprises me with $6 packages of Oreos and makes me special coffee with our fancy espresso maker from the secondhand store. He quizzes me on my Swedish but doesn't push me to speak it before I'm ready. He scours the grocery stores for products that are similar to what I'm used to. In short, he is doing everything he can to make this transition easier and more comfortable for me, and I am so blessed by him. 

Still, though, this is hard. And I guess I just needed to be really honest about that - maybe even mostly for myself. I knew it would be difficult even before moving here, but it was the kind of "head" knowing that can't be truly known by the heart until it's experienced. 

The good news is that at some point this will start getting easier. I don't know if I've hit the "low point" yet, and I am sure that many days will feel just as bad as the worst days, but my head knows that this is probably the hardest season of the move. I made it through the holidays, through my birthday (which was really great, actually), and through the darkest days of the year. The sun is out longer each day, my Swedish is improving, I'm being creative in my cooking, and by the time my parents visit this summer I'll be able to show them around and happily and even proudly share some Sweden with them. Because this is an adventure, and I am confident that in 10 years I will look back on this time fondly. And truly, at what other times do we grow and learn as much as when we are being stretched and taxed beyond what we think we're capable of?

In other news, I've taken up knitting. This was my first project, I'm quite proud of it: