I wonder a lot, about the motivation and dedication it takes for a person to decide to move halfway across the world. To leave everything they’ve ever known behind; family, food, language, in pursuit of… something. Adventure perhaps?
It doesn’t even have to be as grand and drastic as transplanting continents. An old acquaintance of mine recently moved a state away. Away from family, friends, and sunshine. And he’s having quite a time adjusting. At least he has the advantage of (mostly) speaking the language. A half-hearted but fully impassioned discussion of Bon Iver and a nice thick beard will cover that. He’ll at least have the native hipsters fooled into thinking he’s one of them.
My assimilation won’t be as easy I’m afraid. I’m excited for the journey ahead for sure. And without a doubt in my mind it is the right decision to make. But it’s still a bit daunting. The language alone gives me the willies. I can roll my R like nobody’s business. [Shout out to the motherland for that one.] But the back of the throat indescribable guttural sound needed to pronounce Scheveningen. Yeah… not so much.
As for my motivation… what else could it be but love.