Sometimes I realise I've forgotten a lot about my pre-expat life. About my ''inpat'' impressions of a life overseas. I forget about how I used to dream of a life of adventure and excitement in foreign lands.
It's a life I could only hope of in my twenties. A life I thought I'd surely never see in my early thirties. Then, in my mid-thirties, it finally happened. I was going to be an expat. I steeled myself for the moments of uncertainty, adventure, fulfilment and discovery.
And then I was here. An expat.
And somewhere between THEN and NOW, the uncertainty, adventure, fulfilment and discovery became a blur, became everyday, became mundane.
How exactly did that happen?
How did I go from marvelling at the wonder of attending a concert in the desert to wishing for nothing more than a weekend lie-in? How, in this great expat adventure do I still find myself wanting? When did the flip occur? When did I swap the urge for a Caribbean escape for a desire for frigid, wind-swept coastal getaways?
It's probably about the same time that I realised a boss is a boss, a job is a job, housework is housework, family is family, and escape is escape.
No matter where you are in the world, chances are at some point, you'll want to escape it. So you swapped your 9 to 5 in Canada for a 9 to 5 in Qatar. It's still a 9 to 5.
Housework is a constant. Hair turns grey. Wrinkles and smile lines work their way onto your once youthful face. Responsibilities mount. You have good days and bad days at work. There's a snowstorm or a sandstorm. Traffic's a pain. Your back is in pain. People die. Kids are born. Life goes on.
No matter where you are in the world.
And yes, even the expat adventure grows old after a while. You start to miss what you once had. Not because you're an expat. Simply because that's the way life goes.