Two years ago we wondered "Could we go and live and work in Canada? Where would we live? Where would Stewie go to school? What job could Gary get?"
Friends asked "Why Canada?" "Why not" was our usual first response. We have never been deep thinkers when it comes to big decisions. Think of an idea - talk about it for 15 minutes - do it, seems to be our approach. When we decided to get married..."Shall we go to Las Vegas and get married...should we tell people? Tell a few. Okay, lets do it."
Maybe we are impulsive? I don't think so. More likely private and logical with too much of life already spent on introspection, picking over the minutia or "what if?" and "why was that?" I like to think that I am the big ideas person and Gary follows my lead but anyone who really knows Gary knows that isn't how he rolls. He is the pragmatist whose take on reality can seem brutally frank some days, but truth be told he is the secret dreamer - he suggested Vegas; he rooted for Canada; he spurred me on when it all fell through. So together we jumped through a few hoops, planned, re-planned, and planned again (Oh how I love to plan!) - and here we are, 25 days from our home and living in our 5th temporary accomodation.
Are we all having a great time? Not yet. Stewie is a ball of rage most days, missing kids his own age, and the routine of school. High on too much brightly coloured shouting TV. Gary is missing being a worker - he hasn't said as much, but housework and washing are clearly not filling the void for him. And me? I seem to have been at work much of the last month, mentally if not always physically, so in many ways I don't feel like I am here yet.
Things that I am so greatful for since leaving our home on the 12th September - meeting fabulous creative people at Vale House; knowing that my little allotment is being cared for whilst we are away; being welcomed into my new office by lovely Canadian people - I feel like I have worked there for ever already; realising how many truelly great friends we have in the UK - that has been the wrench of moving - leaving a happy home and stepping into the fear;
Is it fun? Not yet, but it will be.
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