Greener Pastures
Green pastures outside the Moher Cottage, where we stopped for coffee en route to the Cliffs of Moher.
It’s been one week since we landed in this lush green wonderland of a country, and it seems time has morphed and stretched to contain much more than seven short days should be able to hold. We’ve visited castles, walked the rocky road along the brilliant Cliffs of Moher, and Greg has defied our taxi driver by being a surprisingly good American driver in Ireland.
After seeing a photo of Greg and I cuddled together, a friend replied, “You look so happy!” and, to be clear, we are happy. Greg and I feel so fortunate to soon be studying for our master’s degrees in the bustling harbor-town of Galway. The Irish people are warm, laugh easily and tell wonderful stories. We’re healthy and safe and together.
G & I in front of the Cliffs of Moher, where Harry Potter & Dumbledore went to destroy a Horcrux (swoon).
Greg modeling the Cliffs of Moher.
Doonagore Castle, a 16th century hilltop castle in County Clare, Ireland.
But we also feel overwhelmed and isolated at times. For me, the first few days were a disorienting fever dream of uncertainty, fear and maybe a bit of regret. And the hardest part was that I hadn't expected it.
I tend to be a rather confident and quick decision maker. Rather than spend precious time deliberating a decision into the ground, I prefer to make it, reflect on it and then alter my course accordingly. I jump and consider the decision as I fly… or fall. Luckily, Greg is my near opposite and provides a great balance. He meticulously considers all aspects of a decision before moving forward. He asks 50 questions about how it will work, while I call out behind me, “Come on, we’ll figure it out!"
In the short months leading up to this big move, I was the ever-confident partner, pushing Greg and I forward without too much hesitation or doubt, while Greg voiced uncertainty, doubts and hard emotions. I empathized, but didn’t share. I wasn’t trying to hide my uncertainty or doubts or hard emotions; I just didn’t feel them – until the week before our flight departed. Greg had grown more settled, more confident and more at ease. Meanwhile, I began to burst into nervous laughter and remark without prompting, “What the f*@k are we doing?”
“I jump and consider the decision as I fly… or fall.”
My distress reached an all-time high somewhere above the Celtic Sea. I turned to Greg with no humor in my voice. “We have no friends or family in this entire country.” He laughed lightly'; I’d repeated a phrase he’d uttered a few times in the months prior. “We’ve got each other,” he said. “And we’ll make friends.”
Gleninagh Castle, tucked away along the coast in Northern County Clare, Ireland.
For the first few days, I felt like I was sleep walking. I couldn’t seem to make sense of why we were in a country I’d never visited to attend a school I’d never been to. I kept telling myself, “You’ve always wanted to live abroad,” but the answer fell short of making me feel better. Where was the excitement I’d felt as we packed up our home? Where was the giddiness I’d felt talking through our plans with friends and family?
Sometime this week, I realized that my dreams about this year in Ireland hadn’t really included me. Maybe a version of me I aspire to be – confident, emotionally-steady and fearless. But not the real me, chock-full of big emotions and, it turns out, latent uncertainty and nerves about our big adventure.
As it turns out, when you embark on an exciting, new life chapter, you live it as your real, complex, less-than-dreamy self. And I think that’s okay, better even. Because you have space to grow.