A Life Away

        It always felt a life away. 

In sixth grade, my father drove me to school most mornings. The other mornings I took the school bus from my mother’s. On this particular day, the world appeared crisp in the early hours of the spring morning with green leaves scarcely brightened by the sun overhead. That morning, the topic was the idea that I would go to Poland with him for his sabbatical that would take place during my sophomore year of high school. “You’ll be fifteen,” he reminded me. 
Fifteen seemed a life away at the time. High school seemed a life away, although it was really only four years away. Still, four years determines the difference between ten and fourteen, fourteen and eighteen, and eighteen and twenty-two. All the years included and in-between remain crucial in the process of developing an identity.
At the time I still believed the stereotypes of teenage life seen on TV: lots of crazy, amazing adventures, just like those on Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. I certainly did not believe the reality would be a whole lot of emotional trauma, homework and standardized test. And not a lot of perfect outfits, sass, and spunk. 
“And when the time comes,” he continued while we cruised over the hills decorated with grand colonial-looking houses at each corner. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to go because of a boyfriend.”
I laughed. Who do you think I am? My eleven year old self thought. Why would I stay back because of a boy?
  The idea of a boyfriend was strange to think about. I couldn’t get my mind around who I would be at fifteen, none the less the boy I’d be dating at fifteen. I perceived my future Poland experience as a great Disney Channel show idea. 
Now at fifteen, almost sixteen, I recognize the reasons I wouldn’t leave a boy that I love for a foreign country and life. I understand how things can change drastically while I’m away. How my absence can put a hole in my forming friendships. I realize the complications of FaceTime and Skype. I’m aware that nowhere but the Swiss Alps can compare to the sunsets I witness on the horizon of the ocean in front of my house. I realize homesickness can become worse than the flu… Actually, while I write this, I see myself falling into writing a narrative, not a blog post. 
I haven’t experienced my life in Poland yet. Therefore, I can’t say homesickness is worse than the flu. I can only imagine, and I see myself getting carried away with my imagination. I guess this is how writing works, though. The ability to empathize and imagine play the most important roles. 
Anyway, although I can imagine all the downsides, I can also imagine the upsides. The advantages. The rewards for sacrifices. My father did, too, obviously, with all of his life experience.

But all so suddenly, it crept up on me. The lifetime away became two days away. And tomorrow I will be in Poland, ready to experience and testify all that I’ve imagined it would be. 

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