Now this is the one where I try to conquer my baser instincts, because I’m wallowing in massive self-pity right now. The question is how, exactly, does one get over oneself? What muscle do you flex, what process is required? I have told myself, sternly, that I need to do it, but that doesn’t seem to have worked.
See, the suburbs is not really my habitat. I lived in a city until I was 13, then I moved to a small town in the middle of nowhere, and both of these things are fairly self-contained: you live and shop and play where you work. I can’t describe why it’s so weird to me to have to drive everywhere and not have things like libraries and movie theaters and kid-clothing stores within easy reach, but it is. Weird. And not in a good way.
But we had these boys, and they needed space to run around outside. We couldn’t possibly afford anything with a yard in Munich, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take them to the park every day, so the suburbs seemed like a logical choice. I still think we made the right choice, but there’s no denying that it’s involved a few sacrifices for me – career development has been difficult, and I never really did make friends here (though I do have very wonderful friends in Munich).
It’s okay, you sacrifice for your kids, I understand and accept that. But for me, moving to Utrecht is a reprieve, it’s like parole – nine years taken right off my sentence. And if we move a year later it’ll only be eight years taken off, and if I could think of it like that I would be happy, but no. I’m all “I thought I was getting OUT of here, now I have to wait a whole nother yeeeeeearrrrr.” And I know that I’m behaving badly, but that (strangely) does not make me feel better.
N.B.: We haven’t decided to postpone the move, we’ve only decided to consider it as one option. So yes, I am actually freaking out over nothing.
Song du jour of the day: I’m Only Happy When It Rains, by Garbage.