I must admit, it is with some trepidation that I undertake the journey that I will be documenting in this blog. I am 39 years old, have never travelled in Europe and have no good idea about what I am getting myself into.
I am, you see, an American. Born, bred and raised, with the firm idea successfully lodged into my undersized noggin that there is no better place on this God’s green Earth than this, my homeland. Thus, why would anyone ever wish to leave such a place? Utopio, heaven on Earth, the best little country ever devised, formed and maintained. Populated by the best peoples on Earth. I am not being sarcastic here. Not one little bit. I love this, my homeland, fervently, and believe the best about her and her multitudes of many tribes.
Yet, I have recently realized that this life of mine was missing some fundamental thing, some key component: adventure. I am, or have been until now, a cubicle dweller. I am a denizen of office spaces and tract housing and condos in suburban places. I go to work, eat my meals, try not to cause enough of a stir to be noticed, and then I go home and watch great American telivision or cruise around on the Internet until the clock strikes 12, at which time I go to bed to prepare myself for more of the same.
Well, sounds inviting, doesn’t it? To me, it did. I stress, did. As I have grown older and see more of life I have come to the conclusion that this cannot be my life, or solely my life. When I am on my death bed, am I going to be extolling the virtues of the latest fall TV lineup? Continuing down this path, I think that I might. All of my memories would have been the memories of drama writers or comedy writers, not mine. What kind of life is that, exactly?
So, now, I have undertaken one of the adventures I have recently decided might be good for me: I am moving to Belgium to work for a multi-national organization. And I have no clue what I am getting myself into. I do not know if it will be a good experience, a bad experience or somewhere in between. All that I know is that I am doing it, and I am scared shitless and wondering why I ever agreed to this madness. How could I, corn fed American who views everything non-American with suspicion and distrust, have decided to live thousands of miles from the bosom of my family and friends? It seems a bit ridiculous now. But, it is going to happen nonetheless, and I find myself facing the prospect with equal measures trepidation, forboding and excitement. Such is my nature.
Over the coming weeks, should my plane land safely and I not get fired for being stupid, I will document my life in Belgium on this blog. I have no idea whether the result will be mundane or tedious or maybe a little better than that. Much like life, I suppose: we shall see.
