Five years after my disembarking at Heathrow, Mr Findingmoxie and I were paying someone else to chuck our precious things into a freight container, bound for the US of A. We were chock full of emotions, a veritable molotov cocktail of excitement, sorrow, nerves, nostalgia, eagerness and straight up terror that we would forget something that would set either government against us. We truly loved London and our lives in London, but we had set plans in motion for a life in the US years before and things were coming to their natural conclusion. Away, we would go.
Now, you're thinking you know all this and that this walk down memory lane seems a bit unnecessary. Well, dear reader, forgive me, but you'd be wrong. We were suddenly in California and you watched us wiggle our fledgling wings, take tentative hops and eventually the tiny hop off into the great wide open. But where we thought we would soar, we fell into a free-fall. Charles Dickens totally gets it:
'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.'That's it in a nutshell, folks. So many aspects of our new lives thrilled us, but Newton's Law wouldn't cut us a break (this one's for you, Mr Findingmoxie, some sciencey goodness). 'To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction' and the reaction in question was a host of things that we didn't love, that didn't feel right to us in our new world. So, we were having serious doubts. We weren't sure if the findingmoxies were simpatico with life in California, life in San Francisco. And we were still looking for work. The double whammy.
In the end, it was a combination of factors that led to our decision: the doubts, the lacks, the trickling away of our savings. And so, we decided to haul our cookies back to London, becoming possibly the only people to EVER orchestrate two transatlantic moves within one year. Silver lining, we nailed it this second time around. Well, except for my crutches being packed when I wasn't looking and then having to be unloaded and unpacked by embarrassed movers . Yes, here's a tip on moving, do not schedule a half marathon a week before your impending move. It is literally shooting yourself in the foot, or knee, as it were.
Nearly a year later and the molotov cocktail is back. Only this time with a heap of regret, a lump of guilt and a pinch of hope. Hope that we'll find a place where we belong and hope we'll forge a hearth and home independent of geography. Because let's face it, my home is where that GingerBeard is and his is wherever I lay my pretty head.
And with that, peace out, California, it was grand and you'll always be in my heart, but maybe we're better on long holidays than the nitty gritty of real-life hustle? KIT and stay sweet, old buddy. Hey London, remember us? Well, make room, because the findingmoxies are on their way.
