Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Chateau d'Herbeys, France.
I don't really know myself at the moment. I am oscillating between being very excited about moving and fucking terrified.
The emotions are exhausting me.
For as much as I've been wanting to do this for over a year now, and am finally on the apex of going to England, there's still a tiny voice that makes itself heard within the back recesses of my head, that says: Oh my God. I hope this isn't going to be crap.
I feel as though I'm prepared, I know I am lucky by heading over there amidst the throes of summer, and although deep down know I've made the right decision to go, there's still that human trait that transpires into questioning: Please Universe, may I have made the right decision.
My emotions are flying all over the place. Deep sadness of the things I am leaving behind that I love so much - my friends, family, the luxury of having a flat all to myself, the familiarity, the sun, the non-expensive Ront.
But then there's also the excitement of a new challenge, out of my comfort zone.
Leaving the comfort zone is like leaving the uterus, I'd imagine. Necessary, but chaotic.
I'm focusing on core reasons I wanted to go in the first place. A new city, a world city, filled with cosmopolitan people, and filled with nutters. An amazing boyfriend who'll be waiting for me on the other side. A fantastic new role within my existing company. Travel opportunities.
I was going through all my photos the other night, ripping them from albums and stuffing them into a box. For means of storing in my mother's garage.
Twelve years of photos in one box. I came across the ones I'd developed from when I lived in France. In a tiny village, in the Alps, with a family, when I was 18.
I looked after 7 kids.
Now if I could do that, then surely I can do this.
In France I knew no-one. I had to make friends using a foreign language. I had to eat snails and look after a clutch of children, one of whom was handicapped.
I'm taking one picture of France with me, which I'll carry everywhere. A random one, taken of the back garden. It overlooks this plush green field, with the distant chateau in the corner.
And I'll take it with me, to remind myself that I've done this before, and I survived. And it was hard, and yet thank fuck I did it. And didn't come running home after a few months.
It's two weeks today. I have two weekends left in Johannesburg. My mind never sleeps - even in my dreams I'm thinking of stuff I still need to do.
If getting married turns one into Bridezilla; then immigrating turns me into Immizilla.
Bad joke. I'm hungover from the wine I had at The Grill House last night.