Yesterday marked my ten-year anniversary of living and working in Europe. On 19 October 1996, I got off an overnight Sabena/Delta flight in Zaventem airport, and took started on an adventure that at the time was framed as, “a year contract to be paid to live in Europe? What’s the downside?”
Well, here I am, fairly well ensconced in a job, with a house and a family. The years of living on the continent have taken their toll: I’m certainly carrying a lot more weight around than ten years ago. I’m still using Macs, and am still surrounding myself with fun work on multimedia. I hand-coded my html then, and I still prefer to do so, now, only with a bit of CMS help on the boring, repetitive bits.
Although I have (a couple) iPods, I listen to music a lot less often than I did when I was dragging huge stacks of CDs from place to place. That’s going to have to change.
The majority of my adult life has been spent away from my country of origin. I have always felt an outsider, anyway. Before 1996, I had never been outside of North America, or even on the west coast. Now, I am a seasoned (some might even say jaded) traveller, who can hit the ground running in any of four continents.
So, here I am. I don’t think I want to turn it into ten more, right away.