I’m lying in bed. It’s one in the morning and I can’t sleep. Skype is open, the solid black window that provides me a peak at what it is like on the other side of the world. My boyfriend sleeps in the pure darkness. Soon the light will creep in through his window and slowly the black will slither away, giving me a glimpse of a leg, an arm, a toe. It is nearly six in the morning in Belgium.
He tried so hard to stay awake to comfort me, but he eventually had to succumb to the dark. He leaves our window across the world open, so that I won’t feel lonely. Before he slept, we talked about how many days were left. By this time next week, I’ll be lying in bed in Halifax, praying for sleep to come and knowing it won’t. This time next week I’ll be counting the hours until the airport and the thought makes me cry.
My tears are mixed emotions. I want so badly to be going to Europe and exploring this amazing world with the man I love. But when I step onto that plane, there is no turning back. Everything will be different. My small little world will open up and become something greater. I am waiting for the catch, waiting for the other shoe to drop. These kinds of things don’t happen to people like me.
These past days have been spent solely on me. I’ve spent my days running as quickly as I could toward take off. There hasn’t been time to stop and enjoy today. Now there are four days left. Four days before I leave home, leave my family and this town and this comfort zone. I haven’t stopped to think what I’ll miss when I’m gone.
People tell me I should just be thankful. I am, but this emormous change, this life altering risk comes at a cost. I’ve bartered my security, comfort and lifestyle for a chance at adventure, love and a future. It seems simple until someone asks you to leave behind everything you know. Some days it seems like an easy choice. Today it is not.
Tomorrow I will wake up and make the best of the time I have. I will wake up and find that day has broken in a tiny bedroom in a tiny town outside of Gent. I will plan my day carefully, taking what little control I can muster before everything falls from my grasp in the skies over the Atlantic Ocean. Tomorrow I will hope to slow the clock and give myself just a little more time. When Friday comes and I wake up in the sky, what will I wish I had done?