**This was written 3 weeks ago**
We arrived in Charlotte on Saturday. The day of the attempted assignation of Trump. Welcome to the US! I’m annoyed that I didn’t document the leaving of the UK, build-up but I can’t give myself too much of a hard time, I was quite busy with, well you know, leaving the country and all that goes with it. I had finished up at work a week prior, so thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that. With work out of the way and me quietly saying to myself ‘Wow I’m unemployed’ it felt quite good, quite freeing and exciting. What new doors would be opening? The countdown was ON!
The removals came in and packed up everything, it’s always times like this when you wish you lived more simply and had less stuff, why do we need all this anyway? Not to worry, it was being shipped over regardless so we could curse the other end when we had to unpack it- but also a much-needed and welcome comfort from home. I’m a typical Cancerian so home is queen for me, I have to immediately unpack and arrange photos and anything that’s ever meant anything to me on display (I packed in my case a photo of my mum and dad that’s sitting on our hotel sideboard)
As we slowly made our way through the week, my sister and I stood sobbing in her hallway saying goodbye, I gave my mum a big kiss and cuddle and left a note under her pillow to remind her that I loved her and would miss her. I saw my nearest and dearest friends and well, it just all very surreal, but at least we were finally moving forward. As we had a final pint in our local, it was odd to think that this time tomorrow I’d be in Charlotte! I couldn’t wait to get here and feel the oppressing heat – the weather app said it was ‘Stifling humidity’ which as I shivered in the beer garden, would feel wonderful! I could unpack all my summer clothes that have been redundant since my last abroad holiday! On the plane I had visions of us in our hotel, sunk into starchy white sheets, taking long baths and letting all the stress melt away.
Well, I’m here now and I’m underwhelmed. Obviously, I knew this would happen, I’m a moving specialist, and I remember moving to Sydney in my mid-30s feeling the same way, imagination is always better! As we got off the plane and felt that heat, it was glorious having left the cold UK. In the airport, I saw a man wearing a ‘find Disciples, not Excuses’ T-shirt. Punchy. As the taxi took us through the city, I started to feel uneasy and was seeing JESUS SAVES banners on lamp posts, to be fair, you can’t get away from Jesus, he is everywhere. He’s international. But just as I thought I’d had enough Jesus for one day, I turn on the TV and there’s an advert for finding Jesus. Is he lost? I hope they find him soon.
Barbara (my brain) started to go into overdrive mode, honestly, she never stops, why have you moved here? You are going to hate it! It’s too hot! You will fail here! You should have gone to NYC! By the time we’d arrived at the hotel, I was ready to get straight back on the plane. Jet lag had kicked in and I was feeling weary and emotional. I took a long hot shower and lay on the bed pondering my life choices. Razor Light’s America is going round my head. Great song.
I was delighted that after having 9hrs solid sleep, I felt much brighter and more positive, we went to watch the England game in a sports bar, it lacked any atmosphere and as English people (think Danny Dyer football hooligan whilst watching any sport ) this was disappointing but we sunk a few craft beers and got involved none the less! With tails between our legs after the game, we went to a Honky Tonk bar – it can only be described as something Dolly Parton would feel at home in and most English men would start to shuffle nervously towards the door. There was a dance competition, we were asked if we’d like to line dance…. And with a straight face. A legitimate question. Firstly I can’t follow a routine if I tried (even following the Macarena has me sweating and making moves that look like I’ve forgotten my medication. Nonetheless, we enthusiastically made our way to the bar and loved watching the couples throw themselves around with wild abandon (this can only be done in England after 25 Tequila shots whilst hollering ‘I’M A DREAMER by Livin’ Joy) Am I right or am I right?
We might share the same language with our American cousins, but that’s where it ends. Americans are so hopeful and generally positive, the confidence in them! It’s insane. I currently feel small, an outsider, and am doubting everything. I know things will get easier, but what was excitement back home in the UK, now turns to fear on what I’m capable of out here.
Tomorrow we view apartments and that will be a huge step towards finding our feet and our community in time. And that’s the thing, everything takes time, it’s not an overnight thing. We have to earn all of this, and it will feel so sweet when we have but for now, it’s building bricks which eventually feel like home here. I love my husband so much but since we’ve been here it feels like lockdown all over again, we only have each other for company and we’re trying to weather our emotions, both reassuring one another that we’ve gone through a big change and that it feels strange but we have got this. I miss ‘knowing where I live and I can walk home and feel safe. I have all of this to learn here and it’s daunting. May I also remind you I’ve been here 3 days wahaa. I’m an impatient cow.
**Update**
2 weeks later and here we are in our new apartment. It’s two bed, two bath, it’s spacious and has gorgeous double windows and ceiling fans. It’s very Instagramable (shame that I hate Insta but can show off here instead) It’s in a lovely part of town, full of shiny young Americans with their designer dogs. Everyone has a dog here, it’s tempting, but Az and I are commitment-phobes – a dog is kin to a child (albeit one I don’t have to birth) but a huge responsibility though you can leave dogs at home for a time, probably not ideal to leave a baby at home… CALL SOCIAL SERVICES.
It’s been an exhausting time, setting up home again. I feel like the last month has just been packing up and then unpacking, boxes everywhere, running to the dump, and gasping at our increasing carbon footprint, in the UK we had an electric car and have no kids (so noble!) but since moving and buying endless items, not so much.
I’ve never been much of a news reader, but I’m homesick so I’m glued to the UK news – Huw Edwards and the awful riots. WTF is going on. Everyone needs to calm their farm. It’s hardly a nice reminder of what you’ve left, but I doom scroll every day to get my BBC fix. Even if its pants.
We’ve struggled with ‘settling down’ and getting into our home routine ie not going out to the endless breweries that we’re surrounded by, the weather is hot and humid, and as Brits, it’s criminal not to be out enjoying it. The difference here is it’s constant, there are no random hot sunny days and the ‘must grab it by the balls’ attitude, it’s hot here every single day. Today is a glorious 26degs but annoyingly it’s going to storm (storm Debby -whilst isn’t coming, the fall-out rain is!) The last time it stormed here, we found a cockroach in the dishwasher. The Americans call it a Palmetto bug which sounds so charming, but let’s face it it’s a big ugly bastard cockroach, either way, it was in our dishwasher, the pest control lady said it was probably lost and had sheltered from the storm. I wanted to burn the kitchen down but realising this isn’t a rational response, I sent a hysterical email to our estate agent Sara, she already thinks I’m an eccentric Brit so I do get away with it. Now I’m anxious if it storms, but you know I used to live in Australia so I need to handle it. Big girl pants are required.
Drinking-wise, I’ve been pulling a personal best with consecutive boozing but realising that I don’t want to be dead that soon and trying to rein it in, I’ve managed to settle into Monday- Weds at least alcohol-free. I deserve a Blue Peter badge because with nagging relocation depression begging to take me at any time, it’s hard not to go out and take the edge off with a couple of atrociously overpriced IPAs -the alcohol percentage on them is obscene, back home you can easily source a 4% beer, here, they aren’t mucking about. You’d be pressed to find hardly anything under 4% (that didn’t taste like wee).
I’m still going to bed at 930pm so that reminds me that I’m not wildly out of control. I’m currently sitting upstairs in our ‘loft’ area, we Brits would call it a mezzanine but I rather like the sound of the loft, it gives me a bit of a superior feeling you know? “Oh I’m just up here in the loft” whilst drinking an iced coffee – WANKER!
I am starting to look for work, casual work, perhaps a coffee shop or a bar, I love the sound of both but the actual practical realities of this are rather terrifying, whilst I’m designed for public-facing roles, I don’t know how I’d fair with all the bill nonsense, the tipping thing, it’s intense. I’m easily confused, the corkers I come out with to my husband, he just shakes his head and attempts to remind our friends of another ‘Sammy classic’. Anyway, the tipping shenanigans.
If you’ve not been to the US, you might not be familiar with what’s expected if you dine out, go for a coffee, or have a beer, it’s considered about right to tip 20%, this formality dates back to the European times when you tipped your servants. I don’t think the servers’ wages should fall mostly on the customer, even reading that back sounds totally bonkers but there you go. Hey if I waitress, I won’t be complaining though “$50 for Grandpa, for $75 the wife can watch” (sorry, I just watched Pretty Woman for the 200000th time).
Toodle pips!