Making the Move

(part 5 of 5) © by Quarkscrew Jones

I'm not shocked that my parents are worried about me. Lord knows they've had practice. When I first moved to California, I was eighteen and blissfully optimistic; I had a mission statement in one fist and a laundry list of chess moves in the other. So young and dewy, it took me longer than most to realize that sometimes the world can be a mighty cold place. On Sept. 11, 2001, we were all reintroduced to this concrete notion. Watching the Twin Towers disintegrate before our eyes, like Snow White's kiss, naptime was over. We felt helpless that day, and despite what the media tries to sell us, we feel helpless now.

Because I had announced my move to Paris well before that dreadful Tuesday, I am constantly being asked if I am still going to 'do it'. Each time, I just I smile and say 'why yes, yes I am; thanks for asking'. People look at me like I am nuts.

Am I crazy to still want to 'do it'? I don't think so. For whenever I reflect on the devastation of the past few months, the attack on America and our on-going response, I can't help but wonder about the dead on both sides. All those open endings, all those songs that were cut short just because our leaders can't talk to each other. It pisses me off, and a deep part of me wants Paris for them as well. I want to hear at least one happy story come out of a world like this.

I figure, might as well start with my own.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about a crusade. I doubt I'll be proving anything to America's enemies when I get on that plane and survive. However, by following through on 'doing it', I do intend to prove some things for myself. First, I will prove that yes, I really can do anything I set my mind at. Next, I will prove that fearlessness does indeed lead to freedom. And lastly, but perhaps now more importantly than ever, I will prove that it is not a crime to be an American, and that we shouldn't have to give up our dreams just because someone, somewhere out there doesn't like us.

Over the next few weeks, I will be experiencing a transition that I hope to share with all of you. Perhaps some of it will be useful to those who are just now considering taking their own stage. Since I am an individual who is not relocating through her job, there is much I have to do; so many questions I have to answer. Questions like, 'How much money should I bring?' 'Where should I live?' 'What can I afford?' 'What kind of job can I get with the minimal French I speak?' 'How long will it take for my French to improve?' 'What belongings should I realistically bring and how do I get them there?' 'How do I get my pets through customs?' 'Which Visa do I qualify for?' 'Where do I go to meet other English-speakers?' 'Can I even find a Lupus specialist who speaks English?'

The list goes on and on and on. I'll have to answer them all on my own, and if you stick around, you'll get to hear all the whiny, scratchy, loony details, in Technicolor no less.

Lucky you.

Lastly, you are probably wondering, does she really know what she's getting herself into? Has the panic set in yet, and she just won't admit it? I won't lie, I'm a tad nervous. To suddenly give up everything I've worked for and move to a country where I know no one, have no home, no job and less than a minimum command of the language …just me, three cats, a sewing machine and a laptop? Heck, I dare the Taliban to try it. But I'm also trembling with anticipation at the things I will gain: a new home, new friends, a new job, a new language and lots and lots of cheese!

In other words, I am living again and I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. My mind is made up, there's no turning back. Like it or not, come February 2002, after thirty-four years of preparation, my song will be playing and I will finally be…on.

go to part 1...
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noir et blanc...