Eighteen years ago, in January of 2007, Robert relocated to the U.K. I, however, remained in California. I was a tenured 5th grade teacher working at our neighborhood elementary school. While I planned on joining Robert that summer, that’s not what happened.
After our winter session resumed, I was talking to my principal, Martha, when she seemed to drift off, dreamily ticking off places to see and things to do in England that would be on her personal itinerary if she had the opportunity to go. “Touring Buckingham Place, Windsor Castle, The British Museum, The Tate…meandering through Kew Gardens and Hyde Park…seeing a play at the Globe or West End…shopping at Borough Market, Covent Garden, and Harrods…enjoying afternoon tea at Fortnum & Mason…eating fish & chips in local pubs, strolling along the Thames, and…hearing those charming British accents…”
When Martha finally returned from her reverie, her exact words were, “What are you waiting for?” Mine? “The end of the school year.” Her response, “Why?” This got me thinking and by mid-April I arrived in the U.K. with our 13-year-old beagle named Lox. We were there just in time to enjoy the splendor of our first British spring, a fitting time for a new beginning.
Upon learning that we’d be abroad, I envisioned living in a quaint quintessential English cottage, nestled in a small village. A one-story home with a thatched roof and gravel walkway leading to a duck egg blue wooden front door. A house surrounded by red, pink, and white roses growing aplenty along with frilly greenery framing its mullioned windows. While I pictured myself, Robert, and Lox living in such a place, that’s not what happened.
From my journal: April 19, 2007, E. Twickenham, England
“Day 1 – Woke to the sound of jetting airplanes, the splash of water in the outside fountain, low hum of traffic…this is considered a SW London suburb, but it sounds like a city to me!”
Working with an agent a few months prior, one well versed in ex-pat life, we were steered to a gated community that was located along the River Thames in East Twickenham, best known for its rugby stadium. Over 200 flats and more than 30 townhomes comprised this modern red bricked development surrounded by beautifully manicured lawns and gardens. The Richmond Bridge Estates offered all this as well as underground parking, a private gym, and 24-hour security.
Even though visions of cozy cottages still danced in my head, once we toured a furnished 2 bed 2 bath flat with a balcony big enough for a small table and chair set and space for a grill that overlooked the Thames, in a building named Darling House that was pet friendly, we got to thinking about its location and amenities. It then became clear that it’ll be our Home Sweet Home for the next few years. And it turned out to be an ideal place to connect to the Greater London area and with many terrific people in our complex, a few of whom we’re still friends with today.
When this overseas opportunity was first greenlighted, I had many questions as anyone relocating does. But by this time in our lives, we were no strangers to changing residences. We had in fact moved nine times. However, this time it wasn’t to a new house in the same city, or to a new town, or new state, it was to a new country.
Fortunately for me, Robert had figured out a number of my concerns before I arrived. His work colleagues helped him navigate the banking, transportation, and medical systems. He learned where to buy groceries, home essentials, and gadgets. He found restaurants that would appeal to us both, sights we could enjoy together, and most importantly found what would become our “local”, local pub, that is. That left me with one major worry, a concern in retrospect, I was lucky to have. How would I fill my days? And with Robert working full-time and traveling, who would I hang out with besides our dog? While I thought once I got our place set up and learned my way around, I’d venture out to find people to connect with, that’s not what happened.
From my journal, April 26, 2007, E. Twickenham, England
“Day 8 – Lunch was fun! Went to Strada’s with Patty, had veggie risotto and ‘filtered coffee’…she showed me where the vet’s office is, his name is Dr. Andre…went to Max Mara, Tit for Tat hat shop…felt so nice to have a person to talk with…she is very kind…”
I actually met Patty on my first day in England. She told me she and her husband were American ex-pats from Georgia and that they happened to live across the hall from us. While I had been initially taken back when she approached me as I walked Lox outside our building, and then said we should have lunch together the following week, I got to thinking that working on our flat could wait, so why not?
I soon learned that Patty sought to make my acquaintance right away as she had lived abroad twice and knew what it was like to be a newcomer. Not only did she introduce me to the area, to British experiences, and organizations, Patty put me in touch with people who would form my new friend group when she moved back to the states eight months later.
Recalling these experiences reminds me that it’s fine to have plans in mind, but nothing is set in stone. Things don’t always happen the way we think they will, and sometimes its the way they unfold that leads to such pleasant surprises.
A Journal Journey 