Innsbruck the Majestic

Another lookbook edition to the blog. Sometimes words distract from the story, so I'll sum up our time in Innsbruck in as few words as possible.

December Blues

Winter has finally come to Paris. After a delightfully drawn out autumn, the chestnut trees are finally shaking the last of their amber leaves from their limbs. The city seems to fold in on itself, the streets getting quieter and the days getting shorter. Pedestrians buried under bundles of scarves and hats, rushing from one warm spot to the next, flooding the metro and bus lines.

I am one of those people who is affected by weather, truly affected. If it's rainy, I feel melancholy and introverted. If it's sunny and warm, you'll find me dancing on the streets. But this Paris winter is really doing a number on me. I feel like everything I do is in slow motion, like I'm pulling my arms and legs through a thick mud. I can't seem to fully wake up, as if I'm only 80% there most of the time. It's like my mind is reverting hibernation, and my body is begrudgingly following.
My girl Sara gets me.

I always feel more quiet, more reflective in the wintertime, but I think being an expat makes everything a little more quiet, a little more solemn during the holidays. It hits right after Thanksgiving, after thumbing through everyone's white square pictures of pumpkin pie and family portraits. You realize you have a whole month of holidays away from home headed your way.

It's rounding out that dreaded third month now, the month during a transition that makes you feel like you are going to break. All the au pair blogs and expat forums say it: "Whatever you do, don't leave before month 4," they said. "The fourth month is the hardest month, stick with it," they said. And now I know. By now I've visited most of the big sights to see in Paris, I've explored the neighborhoods, I've met the new people. The novelty is rubbing off, even for Paris.

And my novelty with people from back home is rubbing off too. Friends have moved on, made changes, started new seasons of life, without me. Texts don't come as often. Scheduling FaceTime and Skype dates becomes more difficult. Excuses come more often about not having time, when really they simply aren't making time. And some friends just fall away altogether, because the only thing we had in common was proximity. But it's part of the whole experience, spending a year abroad. It's a new level of independence you learn when you step away from your comfortable cushion of familiarity. It's something special that only being an expat can give you. 

So while I won't give in entirely to these December blues, I will just give in enough, enough to learn about myself and my heart. I will not go back to bed in the morning, no matter how much I want to; I will go get lost in a museum or library. I think that's the key to surviving the dreaded fourth month: not to give in, but to give out. Not to ignore the colder, more somber feelings blowing through the brain, but to use them. Not to drift around in a listless fog of denial, but to excavate the heart, to take advantage of the cave-seeking instincts to find the treasure buried deep within.  Channeling those winter blues into discovering or developing a new layer of yourself. Change forces you to choose, to choose sorrow or joy, to choose to be a victim or a champion. As for me, I choose to be a champion for joy.

Besides, Christmas is just around the corner....

Last Days in America

Sitting on a cushiony velvet sofa, listening to the cool blasé buzz of the city streets below, and reminding myself that the past few days weren't a dream. I really am in Paris, and this is my new home for a year. Let's recap.

Saturday: Family wedding for my cousin Ryan and his gorgeous wife Ashton. The venue was a romantic rustic brick summer home tucked in the backwoods of Xenia, Ohio. 

Just look at that happy groom!

Sunday: Goodbyes with my parent's church and my grandparents. So much encouragement and prayer from my spiritual mommas and poppas who have watched me do crazy stuff like this since I was born. And an impromptu early Thanksgiving dinner with my family at my grandparents...how perfect! Thank you Bob Evans and Starbucks (especially for the early PSL release date).

Monday: Playing games and recovering from a full weekend. Goodbyes with my sister and brother-in-law, who are, may I just say, completely awesome. Watch the Sound of Music, a most appropriate choice given the circumstances. Realize how much I have let me driving skills slip in a final Payne family MarioKart Wii tourney. Say goodbye to my baby sister. That was hard.

Tuesday: The big day. Desperately trying to slim down a 66 lbs suitcase to 50. Running last minute checks and getting my parents up to date on all things technology for cross-sea communication. 

--Pause--

We live in amazing times, people. Like, just stop and think about it. Really think about it. I am an ocean away from all my loved ones, yet I can still instantly converse with them, even have face-to-face interactions, in a few simple clicks of the button or taps on a touchscreen. We live in unprecedented times. 

--Continue--

We drive to the airport, stopping one last time for a single combo meal from Wendy's. Because they sure don't have that in the land of crepes and boeuf bourguignon. The drive to the airport is quiet. There comes a point where there isn't anything else to say. Just holding hands and holding back tears.

My friend Hannah came for a few minutes to wish me goodbye. She is my travel buddy, having studied abroad in Europe and Asia, so having her there made me feel a little more confident. Then we go to check my one suitcase. It's 3.5 lbs over.

Travel tip 1: Take the baggage policies at face value and don't overpack.

Travel tip 2: If you're like me and blatantly disregard the first tip, have someone come with you to the airport with a suitcase for things you have to ditch last minute. 

With my suitcase checked and an hour until boarding, my parents and I waited as long as possible before I had to go through security. I wish I could tell you I was full of excitement and anticipation, going on the adventure of a a lifetime. I wish I could say all I could see was life in pink waiting for me, like the name of this blog.

But sitting in the chairs outside security, looking into the eyes of the two people who have loved for me, cared for me, treasured me the most in this life, I felt my heart tearing. We held hands as I sat there, mourning the year of separation that security line meant for us. I felt silly, but somehow rightfully so. Even technology can't imitate the soothing solace of sharing moments with the ones you love and who know you.

I have had trouble with my family relationships in the past, due to my own selfishness and immaturity. This past year, God has mended those relationships and renewed my love for my family in astounding ways. And now that I felt I truly understood their significance to me, I was leaving them. It's hard to be excited about the unknown when you're in love with the life you already have.
But perhaps that's why I had to leave, to know that life is more than I think it is at 23.

Finally I walked through security. Every time I looked back my parents were there, waving as high as they could, straining to see me until they couldn't anymore. I think I may have hyper-ventilated once or twice as I turned around for the final time.

No going back now.

Season of Lasts

When you know the end is near, you act differently. You can't help it. Suddenly all your senses are heightened. The sun feels warmer, the time flies faster, and the tears come easier.

There are three milestone changes in life: marriage, babies, and moving. The first two are treated with so much joy and praise. New beginnings, new people, new loves. Challenges, yes. But they symbolize future, growth in the life you already have. But moving... in my last few months in preparing to move to Paris, I have realized that moving is different.

When you move, it's exciting and new novel, but it's also like a death. The season of "lasts." Last family get-together. Last girls night. Last day at the job. Last worship night. Friends you haven't spoken to in years will move mountains to get that last coffee with you. Suddenly it's your pick for every restaurant, because, you know... And everyone treats you carefully, fragilely, like a priceless porcelain statue that if they nudge too harshly may shatter prematurely.

Then there's the squeeze. It will happen suddenly and without ceremony. You are in the middle of a board game, an ice cream run, shoe shopping, and you realize. You won't be doing this again, not with these people. You are putting this life to death. And your heart will contract until you feel you can't breathe. And you don't want to say anything and be a Debbie Downer. So you just endure the squeeze in silence, watching the world you love play out in its final act.

I once read a quote by an unknown author that said

"Don't work to make you presence known. Make your absence felt."

I think the ones who love the deepest, feel their friends absence before they even leave themselves.
Appreciate the ones you love, friends. Ask God to teach you how to love them deeply. And He will.

"Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart. " 1 Peter 1:22

When you tell people you're moving to Paris...

A hidden treasure in the whole process of moving is how much you learn about your friends and family when you tell them you are moving (in particular, moving to Paris). What people don't realize is how much their reactions reveal about themselves and their view of the world.

Since making the big announcement that I am moving to Paris,  I have found that I can categorize most people into two camps: the dreamers and the realists.

The dreamers say things like:
"You are definitely going to meet your hot French husband over there."
"You are never going to come back."
"I am totally gonna come visit you."

The realist say things like:
"Do you even speak French?"
"I could never do that."
"Have you told your current job?"

Both have their pros and cons. The dreamers will promise the world, then disappear on delivery day. The realists can come off an unsupportive and bubble-bursters.

I definitely land in the dreamers camp. Caution to the wind, and what is bureaucracy? When they think of Paris, they see the tourist sites, espresso at the outdoor cafe, and of course, everyone in love. The realists are already calculating the cost of such a trip, and how on earth you are going to get all your paperwork done in time? They are quick to reassure themselves of their contentedness in their routine schedules and familiar grocery lists, and they ask "helpful questions" hoping you will reconsider career suicide.

Now there are occasional exceptions to these camps:

*The dreamers-turned-realists.
Usually older, they wanted to travel but instead chose the American dream, and ended up with a mortgage and PTO meetings. (Families are wonderful, don't get me wrong. It just makes travel immensely more complicated and expensive). "Do it while you're young; you'll never have this time back," they will croon, with a sad far away look in their eyes. Not regret really, just wondering how life may have been different...

*The people with no cultural interest whatsoever.
They probably have lived in the same town their whole lives and frankly could care less about your little life escapade, because why on earth would you want to leave America? They'll respond with a "Wow, that's cool" before promptly turning the conversation to football and hunting season.

While some people might get defensive about their decisions to move when confronted, I find it much more enjoyable to look at these different reactions as gifts, a new way to get to know the people God has placed in our lives. Travel is not for everyone, nor is living in another culture. Love the people your given, even when they don't process your big move the way you wish they would. And remember... you're moving to PARIS.