Occasionally, I panic. About everything.
Sometimes, when the practical part of me comes out of hiding, I think to myself, "My God, what have I done? What are we doing here? Why did I make Matt come here, we have no future job prospects! What will we do next year? We need careers and 401Ks and pensions! This was so irresponsible!" In these moments of terror, I look on Facebook at photos of my friends with their beautiful homes, successful office parties, and sometimes, their children. Then I look at my 172 square foot apartment.
And then a seven year old French student asks to hold my hand as we walk to our classroom after recess. Carrying books, a scarf, my coat and my purse, all I can offer her is my pinky.
"I'm holding Jen's little finger!" She laughs and tells her friends, who appear legitimately jealous, checking to see if I have any other fingers free.
They ask me what the USA is like. Do we have any of the same stores? Do kids have the same toys? Is it nice there? Have I been to New York? They tell me that some day they hope to visit the USA. They want to see the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge. The want to visit the White House and the Grand Canyon. They ask if I like France. Are the people nice? Do I like the food? Although the kids don't speak English, and I don't always understand their French, they always try to talk to me whenever they have the chance. In these little daily interactions, I'm coming to appreciate why we're here.
And then I don't worry so much about my lack of career.
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