Berlin

I move to Berlin in 11 days. I have been waiting almost a year for this move. Last November, V gave his company an ultimatum: find him a job in another country or he would quit and we would move ourselves back abroad.

When we came back to the US in from China in 2008, we never imagined we would be here so long. The idea was that V’s job in Florham Park would be so beneficial to his career to be worth a few years in NJ before moving back to, most likely, Germany. But then there were no international jobs to be had, and we tired of living in NJ, and another appealing job appeared in Austin, TX. And so it went, from Austin and back to Princeton, NJ, our dream of living in Europe or Asia again becoming increasingly distant.

You may guess the events which spurred the ultimatum; V will make much more of this than I, though certainly I found 2016 to be a difficult year. In the end, it was time, one way or another. After nearly a decade in the US we were becoming entrenched. We’ve been living in big houses and acquiring more and more possessions. We’ve made friendships that make it difficult to leave. And of course, we had a child, which causes roots to grow where otherwise they might have not.

So to leave is incredibly difficult. We have become part of the most amazing community here in Princeton and these friendships feel like they could develop so much further. By leaving we are truncating what could have been lifelong relationships. Certainly, I have kept in touch with friends from various parts of the world, but it is never the same once you leave, especially when you have children who have also formed a friendship. R and Ve could be best friends in high school, her parents my abiding friends for their similar life experiences. And yes, we will keep in touch—S is from Poland and visits her family with some regularity so we will even see each other (soon!) But that weighty eventuality, that distinctly American-feeling dream, shall be ripped from the ground while it is still a sapling.

It has been a hard year, for all of us. The job offer was secured last December—last December! –and we expected to move in the spring. But the move date kept getting pushed back as we went through rounds of paperwork and hoops to secure our future. Perhaps it was a mistake to tell R about the move from the beginning—I have a friend who keeps her young daughters in the dark about big events until right before they happen, to save them the worry. Had I known it would take so long, I might have considered it. But like us, R knew all year that she was to move to a new country, leaving her home and friends behind. Then, she was three. Now, she is four. Emotions are difficult to navigate at these ages, and how difficult for her to have this looming uncertainty, for so long.

We took her on a trip to Berlin in October, hoping to help her feel more comfortable (at least she could finally imagine what Berlin is like) and to look at neighborhoods. We wanted to look inside some apartments, as well, to get an idea of just how much stuff we would need to get rid of in our disengagement from the American way of life. We were only there a week, and only managed to view one apartment, which we all immediately fell in love with. We put in an offer that day, and after rounds of paperwork, we secured our new home, which we may move in to on December 15.

Visas, secured. Online auction of our excess possessions, ending tomorrow, items to be picked up Saturday. Movers coming Monday. Car getting loaded up, Tuesday (oh yes, I’m shipping a car to Germany). Other car getting returned to VW for settlement, Monday. Cleaners coming, Thursday. Ve’s birthday party (at a trampoline place, S said I can bounce the moving stress away!), next Saturday. Flight to Germany, next Sunday.

And then everything I’ve been too busy to dream about, from that day forward. A new home. Finding a German kindergarten for R. Relearning German! Christmas markets. Homesickness and depression (I expect these shall hit around February, which is the worst month in Germany, in my experience, and at just the right interval after the move for them to hit). New friends, right? Hopefully made a little faster than usual; I certainly intend to try. Old friends, too—L and E from Beijing are living in Berlin.

When I visited Berlin in my 20s I called it the city of love. I felt embraced on those wide avenues, amongst the graffiti and street music and dancing and another surprise festival around this corner, and that.

I recall at party at Kunsthaus Tacheles. The room was warm with bodies and music. I was not wearing my usual knee-high boots where I had taken to stowing my passport, some cash and a transportation pass. All these things were in the pocket of my leather jacket, which I had to remove for comfort. There was a mountain of coats on a couch and I added mine to the pile. I remember hoping my possessions would be there when I returned and leaving the rest to fate (my clothing must have lacked functional pockets, damn women’s clothing). When I extracted my jacket from the pile some hours later my possessions remained as I had left them.

I was afraid that I would lose something important in those rooms full of strangers. Instead I remember what was given—a warm evening, kind people, delicious conversations, beautiful music.

I am afraid. How could I not be? Is it a mistake to uproot my family to move across the ocean, chasing the dream of my younger self? The path here in the US had become so weighty. To tear free has taken so much energy. And we do not expect to come back.

I remember the warmth, and conversations, and music. I am terrified, and I leap.