My husband has just been let go from his fourth job in five years. The first time it happened was during Covid when he was laid off, but it seemed to start a pattern.
She said she stood in her new kitchen, which had radiant floor heating and a view of the fjord, and cried because the bread smelled wrong. She'd moved from São Paulo for a man she'd met at a data science conference. The apartment was beautiful. The healthcare was extraordinary. The man was kind. And the bread smelled wrong, and that wrongness cracked open something in her she hadn't known was load-bearing.
I think people don't always believe me when I say it, but living abroad has always felt more fun to me. I love the cultural challenges, the language barrier, the different food, and the process of figuring out the day-to-day. I'm originally from Conyers, a small town just outside Atlanta. In high school, I moved to Athens, Georgia. It was a typical small, suburban place - there weren't many people traveling internationally. Certainly, no one was moving abroad the way I eventually did.
