Curveball.
It didn’t take me long to learn that a life as a Foreign Service family member is filled with expiration dates. From the moment we arrive to post we know that we will, at some point, be leaving.
We say our hellos knowing that goodbyes are always just beyond the horizon.
It takes a conscious choice and, at least for me, a certain amount of effort to stay fully present.
To choose — despite knowing that it’s all temporary—to make our house and our host country our home. To discover favorites and settle into routines. To forge friendships with people who will either leave before or stay after we depart. (Or maybe leave when we do but go to an opposite corner of the globe.) To stay here, now.
And then one day, the horizon draws nearer.
***
I noticed it starting in July as I realized it was the beginning of the last year. The pandemic may have put the world into a great pause, but it didn’t stop the countdown to us leaving Brussels at some point next summer. I started thinking in terms of lasts and “only one mores.” I caught myself future tripping long before the bid list came out, wondering what posts would be on it.
***
Two months ago, it arrived. A very short list of potential assignments at Joe’s grade that we whittled down even further to three potential cities where we thought our family could be happy for the next few years.
Joe emailed his preferences to headquarters. I let go and let God. (Or tried to at least.)
***
Two weeks ago, Joe’s boss called late in the day and the two of them talked for almost an hour. When he walked up from our garden level office, I expected Joe to joyfully announce which of the three places we’d be going.
I didn’t expect him to ask me how I felt about an option that we had taken off the table in the first round.
We spent the next 24 hours reading more post reports, running MED clearance estimators, and talking to colleagues.
And we both came to the same conclusion: we were willing to go where Joe was needed most.
***
Two days ago, it was officially announced: we are headed to Santo Domingo next summer.
There’s still so much we don’t know. When will we leave Brussels? When will we get to the Dominican Republic? What will a PCS look like in a world hopefully recovering from but likely still in the middle of a pandemic?
We know only that the horizon and its goodbyes are drawing nearer.
And that for now, we are here.
