When you’re living the ‘enviable’ expat life, it is for the most part, just that.
But looming amongst the five star shindigs, endless shopping extravaganzas and cultural enlightenment is the little unavoidable fact: you never quite know when it’s all going to end; when the phone’s going to ring with the next ‘tour of duty’.
Last week, we got one of those calls…
We’d been half-expecting it (if there is such a thing as half?) let’s just say it wasn’t a complete shock to the system. I didn’t run around the house yelling “We’ve been punked!” but to be honest, my heart did a triple somersault with a twist and leapt right out of my chest.
We’ve had many conversations about the next step. When we’ll be ready, where we think we’d like to go, where we think we’ll get to go. (For the record, the planets rarely align when it comes to the answers.)
This wasn’t a ‘do or die’ battle, we could say no and (hopefully) live to tell the tale, but when it’s all said and done, we like to think of ourselves as brave soldiers always up for a new adventure. (I’m sure soldiers don’t call their missions ‘adventures’) but you get the picture?
“Bring. It. On!” we chanted with all the nervous enthusiasm we could possibly muster.
