Weirdly, the Talk didn’t happen until two weeks after my return from London. In the in-between, things had been strangely good. I had spent ten days in the UK and Ireland, basking in the certainty that comes with fluency and the comfort of traveling with a long-time friend. As I had boarded my plane back, I still had no idea what I wanted to happen on my return. Mid-flight, I composed a long and rambling journal entry in the hopes of sorting out my thoughts. What I wound up creating was a small list of contingencies to my staying that gave me some idea of what I was looking for and helped assure me that the difficulties weren’t entirely on me. When I returned to Austria, the kids had returned to their whole and hale status and I had the mental space to re-notice the things that had enchanted me so in my first few months here.
Finally, one night when the kids had been put to bed, Anna and I sat down on the couch. We had started out talking about something else and each settled with our backs against the arms of the sofa, facing each other. As we acknowledged the Anticipated Conversation that had been hanging in the air, what had been a relaxed attitude eventually came to feel more confrontational. What followed was a strange and meandering conversation wherein I spoke English and she spoke German. My contingencies had been voiced (not for the first time) and given a strange non-acknowledgement acknowledgement (not for the first time, and ultimately, the decision was thrown into my court. They had signed a contract with me that they didn’t want to renege on. Which felt (feels) a little strange to be honest. If I stayed, Anna would pick up a few classes in Philosophy – which was the focus she was thinking of moving to – and if I didn’t, she would just wait until the next year. I asked for some time and was granted it.
Over the next few days, my decision ultimately came down to the realization that I wasn’t quite ready to give up on Europe (I still have a two month summer trip to accomplish, friends coming to visit, and family members to travel with), but going through the hassle of finding a new family doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’ve started to build a life here and the task of finding a family to transfer that life to is daunting at best, likely impossible, at realistic.
So, I’m staying. Because I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself if I gave up on this quite yet. I’m in love with this language and remembering why I love these children and in love with the possibilities this continent represents. Even though it’s now a little beat up and bruised, this is still a long-time, big-scale dream. For better or worse, I’m not convinced that it’s time to wake up.
