I’ve been counting down the days until R’s arrival in Europe for over 2 months. I started at 60+ days and, as of this morning, the count is down to 11. Being 2 days from single digits should make me happier. But, instead, I felt super bummed out this morning looking at the countdown. I’d rather be 11 days from R and Rocky in PA. Homesickness.
Homesickness, I have learned from Internet research, comes in phases. There’s the Honeymoon phase, followed by depression, followed by a (relatively happy) period of adjustment, usually followed by more depression, and finally acceptance of one’s new environment.
My “Honeymoon” phase was exciting, but also riddled with uncertainty and constant feelings of “I made a huge mistake”. For the past 6 weeks I’ve been feeling content adjustment. I’ve settled into my role as teacher. I’ve been happily chatting with R multiple times a day. I’ve been exploring and traveling. I feel real affection for my new city.
But today? Today I don’t want to be on the bus going to school in Slovakia. I want to be on my front porch, in my Adirondack chair, enjoying the MidAtlantic autumn with my dog and a cup of coffee.
I almost started listing all the stuff I miss, but I’ll spare us all the gory details. All we need to know is that today I’m missing home.
11 days until Ryan is here. Triple digits until I’m back on my front porch.