For the second time in our lives, we have two one-way plane tickets in hand. I don't know quite how to feel about that.
I've been an expat for three years now. That's my identity. I'm The Southern Expat. The girl who traded biscuits for biscuits.
Once I move back to North Carolina, who will I be? A repat? A pat? I'll tell you who I don't want to be. I don't want to be that person who dates something with the day first and the month after and then says "Oops! You'll have to forgive me. I lived in London for three years." Or that person who says "Hold the lift please! Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I meant to say elevator. You see, I lived in London for three years." Or that person who spells color with a "u" and then says "Oh, silly me. Still adding u's and changing z's to s's! That's what you get for living in London for three years."
You get the idea.
At the moment, I go from happily daydreaming about life with three Targets in a five mile radius to panicking about all the things we haven't seen or done in London. One minute, I wonder how I'll cope with not being able to walk everywhere in my neighborhood. The next I'll wonder how in the world I've managed to cope with a mini refrigerator for three years.
I feel like I'm trapped between two worlds. And I want to be in both. But it doesn't work that way. Mostly because there's an ocean between them. But right now, there's an ocean between me and some of my favorite people in the world. And six weeks from tomorrow, there won't be anymore.