Transplants

In the last year, two of my best friends and I, all independently of each other, up and moved to new, unfamiliar places.

My friend Elizabeth recently got engaged, got married and moved from Atlanta to Norway with her new husband, all in the span of 8 weeks. Kathleen and her family moved from Atlanta to Denver last year. And obviously, I'm in Hawaii.

Elizabeth just got to Norway, so let's give her a chance to see how she feels. In the meantime, she started a new blog to chronicle her adventures, so check out Striped Socks and Skinny Jeans and make her feel welcome.

Kathleen and I are having a hard time. Not that we go through our days moping and crying -- at least, most days I don't. As I've said, the activities and interactions of daily living foster a certain unavoidable level of engagement with the world, and that's a good thing.

But we miss having girlfriends around. Yes, we love our husbands and children, but there's something about having a posse of women to bitch with, drink wine or margaritas with, engage in bawdy talk with, that's just so comforting, gratifying and fulfilling. (And truthfully, I think when we say we miss having girlfriends around, what we're really saying is we miss having each other around -- we fantasize about eventually having each of our families occupy half of a really nice duplex, while she and I established a special education boutique law practice together. Seriously, it could happen. Anyway.)

I really thought I would be better at this. After all, I spent my entire childhood moving around from one country to the next -- elementary school in Venezuela, middle school and high school in Israel, finishing high school in India -- and I loved it. It was mostly easy and fun. But of course, I was entering established diplomatic communities that were relatively self-contained, and I was in school, so there was a whole ready-made peer group.

I knew that coming here, knowing no one, it would not be like that. But I didn't really understand how difficult it would be, and how isolated I would feel, especially just having had a baby. It's so much harder to make close friends as an adult, and outside of some structured setting like school or work. I spend lots of time alone. It doesn't bother me most of the time, but sometimes I realize where I am physically - out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean - and I feel very lonely. I hate that it takes some serious coin and long, pain-in-the-ass plane rides for my family to see my son. Or for me to see my nieces or cousins or grandparents. Or to see our friends. Or to travel anywhere (except another Hawaiian island). At least if I were on the mainland, I'd be able to get to people relatively easily and cheaply.

But, this is the deal Jason and I made, and truthfully, I see my family a hell of alot more than he sees his, so I shouldn't complain. And it's not like our lives are terrible by any means. We do live in a beautiful place that allows us to surf and hike and be outside all the time, and we are slowly meeting people and making new friends and feeling more at home.

In the meantime, next week we're going to Colorado to ski with Kathleen and her family and David and Michele and their brood. And the month after that, I'm taking Zeke back east to see his great-grandparents and then his uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents. And after that Jason's mom and grandpa are coming for a visit. A healthy dose of family and friends.

Still, there are times when I look around and think, "how did I get here? what am I doing?" I don't always know the answer. But there's nowhere to go but forward. Watching Zeke grow. My teaching gig at the law school. Improving my long-boarding skills, and maybe learning how to ride a short board.

And keeping my eye on the prize -- that duplex next door to Kathleen.