I have always been social. Even as a teenager, when my terrible skin destroyed my self-confidence, I had huge, deep, transformative friendships. In fact, when my skin got bad, I just got louder – in an effort to direct the attention from my face – and my friendships became more important to me.
I have never had a time in my life when I had no one. I suppose that makes me very lucky. I have always had people I loved around me. Until now.
Now, I have no one. Or rather, I have them – they are just eight hours behind me and more than 5,000 miles away.
In the panic and singular focus I experienced in the months leading up to this move, this loneliness and isolation is something I didn’t consider. I was so excited and had so much to look forward to and so much left to finish before I left that it never occurred to me that once I got here, I’d be without a support system for the first time in my life.
Having never left home in any real sense – college for me was 40 miles from my parents’ house – I have never had to rebuild a life from the ground up. And unfortunately, I’m not in school and I have a particularly solitary job, so I’m not meeting people the way most people do when they move across the world.
So, what’s the hardest part of moving to a new place, after having the hardest six months of my life?
Not having anyone to call on for last minute dinner plans or coffee on Saturday or moral support when something annoying or hilarious or wonderful happens.
I miss having people.