anchored gypsy

I can't sleep tonight. I have been lying in bed wide awake, long after Bruce has fallen asleep. My body is tired but my mind is racing with thoughts that need to be written down before the words escape me. I can hear sirens in the distance, but for the most part, the city is quiet. It's the Semana Santa holiday and it is as if the city has breathed a great sigh of relief and exhaled everyone away.

As I was lying in bed just a moment ago, I was remembering back to when we first arrived here three years ago. It seems like just yesterday, I thought. (Cliches are cliches for a reason.) Three years ago, I was lying in bed on a similar, quiet night, listening to sirens in the distance, our first night in our new apartment. We had already been in the city for a few weeks (living in a hotel), but I remember thinking, This is our new home. We live in Mexico. We are no longer Americans living in America. We are foreigners.

Everything was a novelty, and I had so much to learn... how to drive in this city without getting lost or side-swiped, how to navigate the potholes and one-way streets surrounded by a population of 28 million, how to read and speak in Spanish, how to get over my germaphobia and greet friends with a kiss, how to avoid the thieving policia, what kind of bribe was acceptable and when it would be okay to just drive off, what was safe and what was unsafe for an American citizen in Mexico, how to buy fruits and vegetables at the market, how to wash and disinfect those fruits and vegetables, how to bargain, how to sing the pinata song, how to endure these six-hour long (or longer!) Mexican parties, how to go from being independent and self-sufficient to being served and waited on in a very patriarchal and archaic society, what was rude and what was normal and what was meaningful in a totally different culture. It was so overwhelming.

But if anyone asks me about my opinion on taking the plunge and becoming an expat, I would say, Do it! Never look back! You will never feel more grateful to be an American until you have lived in a different country. Because even if you were grateful before, somehow it exponentially defines the value and worth of your citizenship and nationality. But more than establishing gratitude in my heart for freedoms I've known all my life (and that so many in the world can only dream about), it has been our family's greatest growth opportunity to date in so many countless ways. Not the least of which has been the people we have crossed paths with during our time here. I feel like Bruce and I are better people for having known them. No, I know we are better for having known them.

Bruce and I have moved so much throughout our lives that a nomadic lifestyle seems to be second nature for us. I know that for some people, they thrive on continuity and are viable forces in their corner of the world, more so because they have stayed in the same community all their lives, establishing long-lasting friendships with so many, and there is such great comfort in that. They thrive on familiarity and can help so many, because they know where to look and how to get it done. They know their network.

But I guess that is not us. And I imagine that never will be us. But for me, the greatest blessings in moving (besides serious de-cluttering every three years or so) are the people I meet along the way. I'm so grateful for the friends I have made in every stage of my life and every place we have lived. They come from all sorts of backgrounds with unique stories and experiences that have remained part of who I am long after we have parted ways. It's because of those friendships that my life tapestry feels beautiful, intricate and rich. And at the heart of it all is my family and God. They are the true constants, so that no matter where I go in the world, I have a steadfast anchor in all that is eternal and everlasting. I am an anchored gypsy.