Lucky

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

Well, that’s what it feels like anyway. It’s easy to get caught up in all the gloom and doom. There’s simply no escaping the barrage of negative information about the war, the economy, the next American president (whoever that may be). I feel hopeless. Stressed. Depressed. I pine for the days when I was mildly medicated. I start to think it’s time to call my favorite child psychiatrist and request a new prescription…

But then I take a step back. I see the man I wake up with every morning and I can’t help but smile. Then I look around me at the people here in South Africa who I’ve come to know and love over the past nineteen months. I open my inbox and feel the love from friends and family around the globe. I take notice of the roof over my head, the food in my fridge, the cash in my wallet. True, there’s a little less cash than there used to be, and I’m more aware of the cost of those groceries in my fridge…but for the moment, I’m okay.

In fact, I’m more than okay. I’m lucky. To quote the lyrics of this cheesy pop song you’re hearing:
(Yes, thanks to Erin's blog, I've finally figured out how to add music!)

Lucky I’m in love with my best friend.
Lucky to have been where I have been.
Lucky to be coming home again.

Oh, didn’t I mention that?

It's true; we’re coming home. For good. When Roger and I come home for Christmas, we’re coming home to stay. (The photo below was Roger’s idea for a “going home” photo to contrast the “going to Africa” photo at the top of my blog. He’s such a dork…but of course, I went along with it so what does that say about me?)
Obviously, I’m thrilled to be moving back. But I’m scared too. And stressed. And maybe even a little bit sad.

I’m happy to be coming home - I am - but I’m terrified that I won’t be able to find a job in this miserable economy. I’m nervous about finding a place to live, about buying a new car. I’m frustrated that the South African currency is tanking at the exact moment I need to exchange it for dollars. And then of course, I’m also feeling sad and slightly guilty about the loved ones we're leaving behind…

I know; I’m like that character on TV who you kinda hate but can’t stop watching. I spend months pining to go home, and now that I’m getting what I want, I’m acting like it’s the end of the world. You want to smack me. And that’s okay, because I want to smack me too. That’s why I’m confessing.

I realize that I’m focusing on all the wrong things. The fact is, in seven weeks, Roger and I will be home again. Ready to start yet another adventure together. And if I’ve learned anything in the eight years I’ve known Roger, it’s that as long as we’re together, we’re gonna be okay. In fact, we’re more than okay.

We’re lucky.