New lives elsewhere
Now that I'm not in my mind so much, I'm focused on implementing some quality-of-life improvements in the home: acquiring a second pair of scissors, sorting bits and bobs into stackable bins (so many cables!), shopping for houseplants (peperomia, mainly), and displaying our eclectic collection of art. We're still missing a few essentials, like hooks in the bathroom, so we will go to IKEA soon. I've only been saying that for six months.
One thing that has been on my mind: I lost my century-old marriage ring, my favorite piece of jewelry. I appreciate its history in my husband's family, how I am the fourth woman to wear it. And I've been thinking that my family doesn't have heirlooms, since both generations before me left their war-torn countries to build new lives elsewhere. In contrast, my husband's family resides in a country that hasn't seen war in centuries. His childhood home is filled with antique furniture and trinkets from those who lived before him. For him, such things are common, while the ring was my first.
I had always wondered, given my family's history, if I too would one day emigrate. It turns out the answer is yes, and the process is underway. This feeling of waiting for a response, this fear of rejection, I haven't felt it in a long while.