Cuppa.
I don’t often disclaim my work but it feels necessary in this moment: writing the below post was a short breather from the news cycle. I recognize my privilege in being able to take one and I also acknowledge my own humanity in needing to.
Where does a story start?
“The beginning” is, of course, the clearest, if not altogether satisfactory, answer. Maybe it’s that unsatisfactory-ness that brings prologues and prequels into being.
We’re always looking for the story before the story.
***
Fact: We are moving to New Delhi this summer on a TBD timeline.
Truth: The story started on Tuesday, January 4th at 11:27 AST when a surprise bid list gave Joe the chance to try for another opportunity that would cut our planned three-year-tour in Santo Domingo short by two.
Bidding in itself was a no-brainer and we were immediately on the same page:
1) we hadn’t bid on Santo Domingo because we didn’t feel like it would be the best fit for our family
2) we had been willing to take one for the team and follow the needs of the service when the curveball assignment had been thrown
3) the reasons we hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place had only been magnified in our 7 months at post
4) we were more than willing to take the risk of trying for Joe to get reassigned.
Figuring out what options to rank and in what order took a few more days. Not wanting to rock any boats, we set about researching options in an almost clandestine process. Very few people knew we were considering an early move from here and even fewer knew where. We quickly eliminated a few options and then set to figuring out what our final list of three choices would be. I think it surprised us both to find Delhi as high up on the list as it was. In the #2 spot, it wasn’t our first choice but it also wasn’t our last.
And then the waiting game began. Joe emailed his bid in with a Zen-like non-attachment to outcomes. I bit my nails and asked repeatedly if he had any idea when the assignment committee would be meeting.
They met a few weeks ago and we anxiously awaited news. It took until last Tuesday when Joe received an email which prompted him to send me a text of an Indian flag sans further comment and then promptly went incommunicado for the next hour while he took a phone call from HQ. On Thursday, assignments were officially announced and we could finally shock the hell out of friends and family with our plot twist.
Also truth: The story started in a living room in Saint Paul, MN on a Saturday morning in the spring four years ago when Joe and I shared the vows that we had written a few days before:
I take you to be my mine.
To share with you the adventure that lies ahead --
its laughter and excitement, its tears and frustration.
To celebrate triumphs and to accept & overcome challenges.
To respect you in your successes and in your failures.
To support, protect and comfort you,
All the days of my life.
Rings exchanged and license signed, I drove Joe to the airport where he caught a flight back to post. It would take a couple months more for me to join him in Brussels but, as of that morning, I had become a diplomat’s wife.
{See related post: A Good Diplomat’s Wife}
Also truth: The story started at half past nine on Friday, June 9, 2017 on the London Heathrow Express as it idled at Paddington.
Following a mad dash from the hotel to Kings Cross and finally to my seat across the aisle from my colleagues, I had the presence of mind to snap a picture out the window as lasting proof of the moment when I knew everything was going to change.
As the doors closed and the engines started their low rumble, I had looked out the window and realized that this was it: the jumping off point. I could choose to stay in my comfortable little life including the relative safety but absolutely soul-crushing job or I could go after the guy and the big adventure that could maybe be mine if I was willing.
The train pulled from the station as Florence + The Machine crooned in my ears and I believed every last word. That morning, I knew I was going to be free and I knew I was going to be fine.
Because, as it turned out, I was willing.
