it's raining again

Sunday night...

The seemingly ever-present rain taps outside our door, helping me to forget that we live in a basement flat and don't get to see anything out the window except parts of other buildings and the sky. It's starting to get dark, and I'm in that Sunday night state of mind - relaxing, but getting ready for the busy week ahead. Dinner is simmering on the stove, and Jeremy is beside me, playing his online game (as usual).

I put on a little Norah Jones to try and hold onto this mellow mood - it seems to be helping me to type, to focus my thoughts a little better. I've started and deleted 3 blog posts already today, and am still feeling the need to write something.

It feels like there is something inside me that needs to come out, something that needs to be said, or understood - but I don't know what it is. I feel unsettled and restless. My brain just won't let me sleep lately, and it's really hard to stay focused on anything. I pick books up and put then down a minute later, I start reading something online and find myself daydreaming, I lose my train of thought when I'm talking to somebody - it's pretty frustrating. I remember this happening before he left the last time, and maybe this is just how things will be up until he gets on the plane in a few weeks...

I stopped trying to write in my blog this afternoon for a little while, and made the usual tour of blogs and websites that are always good places to spend some time. Dooce.com is celebrating 6 year as a blogsite - she wrote a pretty good article about losing her job 5 years ago because of her blog, and commented that she has no regrets because it's become such a wonderful job for her - full time blogging. (Having just finished my first year, I can't imagine whether I'll still be doing this 5 years from now.) At the end of her post, she asked people if they had any regrets of their own, and what theirs might be. Last time I checked there were 471 comments. Interestingly, most people wrote that they regretted letting fear stop them from traveling overseas or telling somebody how they felt about them.

Even though I didn't comment on the post, it got me thinking about regrets in my life - particularly whether or not I regret being here in England.

See, I didn't let the fear stop me from coming here, even though I was terrified. That night on the plane, we looked at the sunrise over the ocean and wondered whether or not we were making the right decision. Then, after arriving here, I spent the first week in a perpetual state of fear (and indigestion), wanting desperately to get back on the plane and go home.

But we got through it. Jeremy gave me backrubs and dried my tears and convinced me that we were doing the right thing and would have a wonderful adventure - the adventure of a lifetime. He was my rock when I needed him the most.

Almost as soon as I started getting my confidence and positive outlook back, things started to fall apart and haven't stopped since. I've watched my finances dwindle to nothing, have endured school holidays without traveling through Europe (which was the WHOLE REASON for coming here in the first place), waited for Jeremy to fly to Canada and then back (only to find out his visa was denied), then discover that he'll have to go home yet again just to have the right to work here. I've borrowed thousands from my parents, missed birthday parties for my nephews, nights with my friends, holidays at the lake and with family, and have been through some pretty lonely nights. And now I'm waiting again to be alone here for several months before I return home.

Do I have regrets about coming here?

If I could turn the clock back, would I have stayed in Canada?

If I had stayed home, I wouldn't have spent New Year's Eve in front of Big Ben with Jeremy and thousands of other people, or toured around the city in double decker buses, or eaten kebabs after a night in the pub with friends. I wouldn't have learned how to speak with a proper British accent (I've always wanted to do that), or how to use / understand British slang. I wouldn't have had all of those heavenly days in the park, taking pictures of swans and enjoying nature in the middle of such a huge city. I wouldn't have learned that I can make my way around one of the biggest cities in the world without a map.

I wouldn't have a class all my own. A group of little children who think I'm the smartest person in the world and believe everything I tell them. Who look up to me and draw me pictures and tell me I'm the "best teacher in the world", and complain when it's time to go home because they have so much fun in my classroom. I wouldn't have gotten to work with this great group of teachers, or experience the stress of report cards and paperwork and cranky parents. I wouldn't have the satisfaction of working with a class for an entire year and watching them progress from barely being able to write to writing stories of their own, gaining confidence in themselves and their abilities and being proud of the people they are.

I might not have this certainty that this career is the one I'm meant for.

I might be in Canada regretting not taking the chance to live in one of the world's greatest places, or to travel through Europe (which I WILL do before I go home). I might be in Canada working at another call centre because I couldn't get on the supply list for the Thames Valley school board (still a significant possibility which may lead to relocation once again).

Do I regret this?

I guess only time will tell.

I hope that when I'm sitting on the dock at my parent's cottage with my feet in my lake, that I can smile at the memories that were made, rather than focus on all of the things that went wrong.

I hope I remember that all of this rain was really good for the flowers.

And that it didn't rain every day...