Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, “But how does all this affect us?”
(“Us” being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)
At the time, life around us hadn’t changed much…
The London’s streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.
Furthermore, we’re decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don’t need to worry, but his question still struck me as the “Gee, what else can go wrong?” of sitcom folly…
What I’m about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.
I’ve avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it’s too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.
When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend… while on the bus… and standing in line at the post office… and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.
So here, goes…
Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike’s contract still hasn’t been renewed.
Note, this is not to say that it wasn’t renewed. Only that it hasn’t, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way…)
On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn’t been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn’t been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can’t…
Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.
Everything could still change on a dime… er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we’ll have no choice but to move back– uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)
This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.
Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?
It’s crazy. I know, but the answer is simple. I love my husband and it’s great job. Not to mention, it’s was an opportunity that we just couldn’t pass up.
When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We’d have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.
Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people “in charge”…)
We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here…)
As difficult as it has been to “adjust”, the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven’t slept in over three weeks.
Please don’t tell me “It’s going to be okay” or “We’ll be fine”. I won’t be able to stand it. Not yet.