I’ve always told friends when they move to a new city, “you have to give it 6 months, the first 6 months are always bad.” I found myself having to take my own advice on more occasions than I’d like to admit these past months.
Sure enough six months in I’m happier here than I’ve ever been. I have adjusted (resigned) to the 105° weather and that not much will get done between 1 and 4 in the afternoon. I can juggle several children’s needs without having a complete meltdown – sometimes even with a smile. I am no longer surprised if not yet comfortable with the creatures I may have to remove from my house at any point in the day (here is a short list: bat, monkey, goat, scorpion, rat, spider, one-eyed dog).
I am truly enjoying my days here, my time with the people and even the town in which we live. Let me tell you this is no small miracle. It has taken me all these six months to say “I’m glad we are here, it’s been worth it.” Most days I didn’t feel that way.
Now we are preparing to go home for three weeks. We will be leaving the compound to begin the three day journey back to Denver in exactly 10 days and I cannot wait. I can smell Denver, see the mountains, imagine every street corner and each friend and family member’s laugh and smile. The longing for home is possibly stronger, yet with less grief than ever before.
Then I see our four year old Amana smile and run to me and I can’t stand the idea of leaving for a month. I see our older children working in the gardens and hate that I will miss the first planting. I know life hear will go on just fine without me, Amana will run to the arms of one of the other mother’s we have hired and there are people here who know more about planting than I do, but now this is home and I’m going to miss it.