Dropping my parents off at the airport doesn’t get any easier. It hurts my heart – how much I miss my family and friends in Canada. It puts me in a bit of a funk for a few days – my mind working through all sorts of scenerios and ways to make a move back to Vancouver work. But sure enough, along comes the everyday again and loving being a Canadian in Copenhagen.

I sort of take it a year at a time, but I think it’ll be a while yet. It’s a matter of extremes here – with things that I absolutely love (every day) and others that I sometimes can’t stand (some days) – which I suppose isn’t so unusual when where we come from will always be our benchmark. And a visit from home (just ask my expat friends – German, French or Russian) – sets off this whole series of questions about where to call home – every time. But smiling breath out – I’m happy here, and that is (for now) reason enough to stay. I think Jan’s always relieved when I reach that conclusion – that he won’t be dragged off to Canada just yet anyways.

I’m always super curious when someone uproots again and moves back, especially when the person has been living elsewhere for several years  – I wonder what it finally was that was strong enough to pull them away from all the things that drew them to a new city or country in the first place. My guess is that it’s family. Definitely family.

This is exactly what I moved to Denmark for.
Better time with my grandparents. Hours of stories, too much coffee, one too many biscuits, and again – more with the stories. Who were they as children, who were my parents as children, what makes them laugh, what gets their goat, where have they been and what have they seen. What they couldn’t live without, and what they really think matters (which without fail – always boils down to PEOPLE). Not how educated you were or what kind of job you had exactly (just as long as you worked hard) – what matters are the people that truly meant something to you at various points in your life. Family. The good neighbour. The sweet nurse. The people who made an effort to make you feel welcome, happy or at home. Having lost my dear granddad earlier this year (still getting over that one), and sitting this weekend with my last remaining gran (95 and sharp as a tack) – I wouldn’t trade these last few years of cozy (albeit over-caffeinated) afternoons with them for anything..

And then comes the tricky part. Acknowledging that what matters most are the people in your life, whether you chose them or not – doesn’t make it easier somehow. Why? At first glance it seems like the perfect simplification. Grandparents love you through and through and accept you as you are, and vice-versa. But then you see (or maybe it’s just me?) – that instead of tackling some of those other, tougher, relationships and letting go of past hurts and what you know are probably great misunderstandings – you throw your energy into all sorts of other things like staying on top of the to-do list, meeting new people, this month’s big client project or next month’s little travel excursion. Work has it’s challenges, but people… people are tough. They’re awkward and prickly and raw sometimes and rarely does any of that have anything to do with you. As with the reverse – the way I choose to react (admittedly) probably has more to do with my own ‘stuff’ than what was said or done by someone else. But man alive it’s tough to let go of our assumptions and preconceptions (where familiarity with an opinion often wins out over being open to another perspective) – especially when it has to do with family – why? Do we expect so much more of family? Maybe. Yes. I think we all hope for acceptance – or in other words – that we matter. Seems basic doesn’t it – and yet that somehow gets muddled up in all sorts of complication. But you see what I’m getting at. People aren’t easy.

So what does that mean – that no one (not even me) will remember the extra steam put in to doing a stellar job on that big telecom website come 6 months from now (although I hope that in general I can be happy about being the type of team mate & professional that I am). On the other hand (and far more importantly) – maybe I ought to put some more energy into understanding where people (even sharp-tongued aunts) are coming from, that prickly is sometimes no more than a means of self-protection, and that off-hand comments are sometimes just an awkward way of showing an interest. Tricky, but it matters. And for that I have my grandparents to thank.