Cosas

Two weeks. That´s how long I´ve been in Valencia, and that´s how long I have left before I go home. It´s been the most amazing experience.

I´ve flown, alone, across an ocean. I´ve met my host and lived companionably with her, eating dinner together and discussing our days, our lives (my side of the conversation is much quieter, but still). I´ve found my way to school, made a couple of friends, and learned how to take the bus anywhere I want to go. I´ve wandered the city, spoken the language, eaten the food. I´m learning how to be una valenciana.

I´ve learned that I can be whomever I want to be. They tell you this when you´re a kid all the time, but somehow I never really knew it. Other people know it, and proceed accordingly, but I´ve always held myself back. I don´t want to do that anymore. My new plan is to think shorter term and pursue what I want to do now, rather than wait for some great life plan to unfold. No more waiting for some silent permission.

That´s the good news. The bad news is that I miss my husband so much it hurts. The scary newness of this experience has worn off (thank god), and what´s left is time and brain space to feel lonely and sad and homesick. But I cope. I write myself kind notes in my journal, saying things like this is so short and will be over so quickly. And I want this, I want to be here, it´s for me absolutely. I fill my time with interesting things. I rack up huge phonebills. I count days, quietly, at night before sleep.

Each day is closer to an ending, but hopefully a new kind of beginning as well.

ohmygodi'mleaving

Today's the day.

Saying goodbye to my husband was hard. I'm so used to sharing every part of my life with him, to forming impressions together. He left for work at 6:30 this morning and we exchanged teary smushy goodbyes. Have I mentioned how unbelievably supportive he is of everything I do?

It's going to be good for me to go alone and have to depend only on myself but still. So, so hard.

Now I have my last minutes. Finish packing. Return movie. Call my sisters. Get my booty to Valencia.

I'll check in with stories to tell.

Countdown

I'm getting ready. Preparing for the trip and realizing there is no way, really, to prepare for the experience.

Even so, I'm making my lists. Big lists spanning the short days before I leave, small lists tackling the days, the mornings. Ordering my cell phone. Fixing my suitcase. Writing out my verb conjugations. Printing maps. Reading my Valencia guidebook and oh so loosely planning my days. I'm a list maker. It curbs the anxiety.

Because there is anxiety. Poking up amidst the excitement and coloring my dreams. Tinglings in the bottom of my stomach that come unasked, prompting me to reach for reasons why I should be so nervous. There are many-leaving my husband, living with a stranger, finding my way through a language and city I don't know-all make me almost want to bail on this dream and think of another that is closer to home.

But I know this is something I need to do. And that when it's over, I'll have it, always, tucked in my back pocket, ready to be pulled out and examined whenever I need a little push into the next scary and wonderful thing. I did this, I'll say. What else can I do?

When I come home, I'll face the next challenge at my second RE appointment. Until then, I will throw my heart into Valencia, happily accepting all it holds out to me.