Exhibit A: Handsome Irish man
I had a dream last night that I moved to Ireland (where I met and dated a handsome Irish man with a handsome Irish accent). This isn’t totally coincidental – my good friend Rebecca flew to France last night, where she’ll be living and teaching for the next school year.
I wish I had that kind of guts. I will probably never live in another country. I didn’t study abroad when I had the chance. And now’s really the only other time, before a family gets in the way. (Although, who knows? If I end up 40 and alone, maybe I’ll pull an Eat, Pray, Love.)
I suspect I’d be miserable if I were to just ship off to Europe. I got a little homesick while I was in Barcelona, and I was only there for a week and a half. Between missing normal American things – why is there no pizza available at 3 a.m.?!? – and missing the people I care about, I was very ready to come home when I did.
What can I say? I’m a wimp. If I ever manage to move to a city where I don’t already know several people, even if it’s on this side of the Atlantic, that would be a big thing for me.
Traveling, though – that I can do. I’m hoping to visit Rebecca before her time in France is up. And in the meantime, I’ll be keeping up with her adventures on her blog, Fresh Era. Check it out!
I wouldn’t call it wimpy. You just value different things than the type of person who’d move thousands of miles and several time zones away. Nothing to be ashamed of.
That’s right. I value my late-night pizza!
Dude. You just gotta make sure you have pizza supplies at home. I don’t actually know if they sell Totinos in France, though.
And what does that mean? What do I value? Is it lemon tarts?
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