The Dilemma

It’s 2016. 

That means that next year, we have to move back to the US.

Why do we have to go? Everyone asks. Here’s the deal:

Our school district generously gave us two years’ leave. They are holding our jobs for us for when we come back. This is unheard of in almost any workplace. Are we obligated to go back? No. Half the school expects to never see us again. If we do, we pick up right where we left off, which is about six years away from being able to collect our pensions. That’s a salary for the rest of our lives. Granted, at that point it’s a very small salary, about the same amount as Social Security, but it’s something. Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Get our pensions and move back overseas, easy-peasy. 

At the earliest point we can collect, Sascha will be between 10^th and 11^th grade. My parents will be 77. Leaving the country doesn’t really sound doable at that point. So maybe we wait until Sascha graduates. Even if Sophie is willing to go to another country for her remaining 3 years of high school (without her big sister), now my parents are 79. Waiting until she’s out of high school? My parents are 82, and Nick and I are in our late 50s. What school will want to hire us at that age? 

Now is a great time to be abroad. The US is embarrassing. The girls are becoming fantastic travelers. If they stay in private international schools for the rest of their K-12 years, all of their school friends will come from educated families with money. For the rest of their lives, they will have powerful connections around the world that they would never get from living where we could afford to in the US. And we all know that who you know is far more important than what you know. My god, the possibilities!

So let’s say we stay out of the country for another decade or so, then go back to MA to finish out the years required for our pensions. Obviously our old school is not still holding our jobs at this point, nor would we expect them to. We run the very real risk of being hired at step one. First-year teachers’ salaries. More and more districts do this now, because they can. First year here? First year salary. Not only would this be ridiculous to try to live on (and demoralizing with 20+ years of teaching experience), but our pensions would then be based on those salaries. 

Now you see why we don’t have much of a choice. It makes me feel sad and frustrated. I’m trying to make myself feel better by thinking of ways to make our lives easier when we do go back, like living as close to work as we can afford (even though that may likely be a $400K shoebox that hasn’t been updated since it was built in the 1950s-- seriously, behold), only having one car, and hiring some domestic help. I try to get excited about shopping for household goods at IKEA, sticking to our new minimalist ways. It does help to know that we love our old school and colleagues, and if we don't live too far from school, we’ll be able to get involved in more school functions than we could before. 

We also miss our friends. In a way, I’ve found my people here. Nobody is local; even my one Thai friend’s hometown is three hours away. We are finally, once again, not the only rootless outsiders. It may be all in my imagination, but I feel that common ground with every expat here. It feels like home, that “everywhere and nowhere” feeling I’ve been searching for since 1991 when I left Germany. It’s that feeling that everyone’s world is The Entire World. People can talk about Dubai or Cape Town or Ecuador, and it's just another place. Back in the US, most of our friends were born and raised right there. Most of the teachers at our school graduated from there, as did their parents. Their family trees all have deep roots and one zip code. I say this without judgment because I truly believe that neither is better than the other (my nomadic upbringing has certainly had its disadvantages), but on some level, we will never fully understand each other. 

However, we’ve put in up to a dozen years of history with them. We have shared weddings, surgeries, home purchases and sales, job promotions and near-firings, births, miscarriages, and major holidays. There have been tears, vented frustrations, and (mostly) drunken howls of laughter over and over again. We love them like family, and we are already tucking away the best jokes we hear for when we’re with them again. Maybe we managed to grow a few roots after all. 

It’s a constant dilemma. I started writing this post a few days ago when I was feeling really sad about leaving, sad about not having a choice, sad that I can’t be reunited with my beloved Europe anytime in the foreseeable future. That night, Sascha was telling me about how lonely she is, and it kind of shook me awake. As I’m toodling around town on my bike with a huge grin on my face, soaking up the endless sunshine and dreaming of planning trips to Vietnam, Japan and India; she’s just trying to be nine, and is surrounded by kids who don’t speak English. Sophie can get along anywhere, but it’s really hard for Sascha. If we were in a less isolated town with more westerners, it would be different. And the choice ahead would be far more difficult.

The morning after she and I talked, I woke up feeling less sad about going home next year. Not ready, of course, but not as fatalistic. I suppose the next 18 months is going to feel like that awful pirate ship carnival ride that swings you back and forth. I never liked that ride, but maybe it's better than watching from the sidelines.