My head was a condemned church

We’ve booked our flights. D-Day is May 17; 57 days from now. Every time I think about leaving this strange mixture of sheer joy and anxiety just washes over me. I think about my family, my friends, my dog, and I feel like crying and laughing at the same time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about flexibility lately. Not so much in terms of physical flexibility but emotional and mental flexibility. The type of stretch that’s required for big changes, like moving to a new and unfamiliar country, for example. And I think about all the times I’ve had to do something I didn’t think I could do, and how wrong I usually was about my perceived inadequacies. More often than not, I managed, I adapted. If you know me well, then you know I have anxiety issues. I worry a lot, about everything, really, so much so that it’s given me a whole slew of wonderful conditions I’ve had to deal withΒ on topΒ of the already debilitating anxiety. Some days are worse than others, but lately I’ve been having more good days than bad ones. And I think it’s the thought of leaving that’s been carrying me through it all.

I know that whatever happens, I can adjust to the situation, and I’ll learn. However long it takes, I’ll get there; I just have to keep reminding myself that everything will be okay, and that I’m not doing this alone.

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