One Year Ago Today...

...three-quarters of the Peitricia Mae family touched down in the Twin Cities and joined The Husband, who had preceded us by a week.

We had somehow managed to pull together an international household move in about three weeks, with a French Immersion school discovered at the eleventh hour, a house found in a one-day trip less than a week before we left, passports secured on the fly, and packers/movers/car-shippers all lined up with only days' notice.

Since that day, things haven't always been smooth, but I would be a little Nellie Oleson if I complained ungratefully. The fact is, everything has worked out, even if differently than we planned.

I've been saying for the last year that I wouldn't pose the question "was moving here worth it?" to myself for at least a year. It's taken about that long to even determine what the criteria used to define "worth it" are.

Initially, I would have said that "worth it" meant that we built a life for ourselves that was the same or better in all respects in comparison to our former life in the 'Peg. But that would have been a tall - and impossible - order. A life we took years to build? A life filled with friends and family who have been alongside us both through our descents into the darkness and our triumphs?

So I modified the definition to one of net balance or gain, meaning that undoubtedly some aspects of life here would not measure up, but that some of the gains of the move would either balance out or tip the scales in favour of the transplantation.

There have certainly been gains. Minneapolis is a really lovely city. We're ten minutes away from two in-city lakes and the amenities are great (Target, anyone?). The Husband likes his job. I found a job in fairly short order and, while I miss my former coworkers and have yet to form similar relationships, the new job is both challenging and rewarding.

There have been net balances. Our first concern has always been the kids - this nomadic lifestyle is hard enough for adults, never mind little ones who crave routine and depend upon a stable foundation from which to explore the world and form their emerging selves. They have had - but have also overcome - many challenges this year. I continue to marvel at their ease in making new friends, but remind myself of the unseen cost of that apparent facility. I burst with pride when I consider their academic accomplishments, but vow that they will not move schools again.

There have been losses. We have yet to find meaningful friendships, a loss which is tempered somewhat by frequent trips "home," but one that will need to be remedied if remaining here is to be a valid option. Our church here, though warm and welcoming and through no fault of the members, simply cannot compete with our home church. It is wearying to be a Canadian living in America.

I suspect that little of this would surprise someone who has also moved far from home. The things over which we have the most control - visas, jobs, schools, lifestyle - have all worked out quite well, in part due to providential provisions and in part due to our own hard work. The things over which we have less control - relationships - are also the ones that take time and cannot be forced (as much as we might like to do so).

Was moving here worth it? No. Yes. Depends on the day.

It seems that I will need to table the question for yet another year. And perhaps I'll have to do the same next Labour Day. Perhaps that isn't a question that can be answered. Perhaps the grass will always be greener on the other side. Perhaps it will always be thus:


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(Robert Frost - 1920)