I’ve been feeling a little sad lately. Our time in Europe is coming to an end and soon we’ll be moving home to Minnesota. Though we’re also excited to be heading back to the U.S., now that we’re in the home stretch I’m getting nostalgic. We’ve grown accustomed to our small town, our apartment with the huge picture windows and nice balcony, our proximity to Europe and especially England, which I love, and where I’ve made wonderful friends.
Since we only have a couple of months left, I’ve begun noting the last time we’ll see this, the last time we’ll do that. When we were in Zürich recently, I wondered if it was the last time we’d eat at our favorite lunch spot there. I wonder how many times we’ll get back to the lake for the kids’ favorite gelato. And yesterday was the “last time” I would see my Swiss hairdresser.
Okay, I admit I added the previous sentence as a bit of comic relief in this maudlin tale. I’m not really crying over my hairdresser (not quite). But I realize it’s not so much the “last times” that I’m sad about (though I really do like my hairdresser): it’s the passage of time. My daughter has spent four of her five years here; she’s a girl now, not a baby just learning to walk. My son, who was a second grader when we moved, will be starting middle school in the fall. And I, who was comfortably in my mid-forties when we came to Switzerland, am now hanging onto them by the slimmest of threads.
It’s the end of a mini-era for our family, and we’re moving back home. For those of you who have moved around through the years, how does it work for you? Does the newness of the change outweigh the nostalgia, or do you miss what you had? Or both?