Flying

It used to be I couldn't understand why someone would give up everything they worked for to move to a new country and start over, unless they were in a war-ravaged place or somewhere there's no upward mobility. In countries with a poor economy or overpopulation, it's so hard to get out. But why would someone leave a place like the United States?

A while back, I asked myself what I'd do if the economy crashed and I lost everything? I decided I'd be fine. I'd get another job. I'd make money. I'd live. It wouldn't be the end of things. It would actually be sort of the beginning again. I think that's what's in the immigrant's mind.

So here I am in New Zealand, nearing the end of my year's contract. I feel like I'm about to jump on a twisty slide and I can't see the landing spot. I have to let go and see where I end up. It's a little frightening, but better than sitting at the top forever, waiting. 

I've thought of staying at the university, but I don't make a very good teacher. I'm not detailed enough and I'd rather laugh than be stern. This department operates so differently from me that I fit in better with the students than the staff, which is probably not the point. None of my professional strengths are being used here, which also makes it challenging to stay.

I've wanted to do something that makes more of an impact on the world. I've looked into research, in areas like macular degeneration or otherwise, but nothing is certain. 

What I do know is that I can't come back to the States, not now, perhaps never. It feels a bit like when I went away to university for the first time. I'm flying freely, uncaged from my old life. Anything is possible.