I was thinking the other day, about fantasies I’d had of going home a changed woman – somehow I’d fly into my home town with an air of Europe woven into me. I’d speak differently, walk differently, think differently. I’d breeze into Philadelphia, to old haunts and dress in a way that made people at my favorite snooty coffeeshop look at me with wonder and just KNOW, “Oh… she’s from Europe.” My hair would be perfectly tousled, I’d hold my double latte just so and while sitting in the corner by the window reading, someone would come over to talk to me and it would come out that I live in Prague…
Somehow I’d just go back world’s different than when I left.
I read Lynn’s post today and it made me think of all this. I, too, am who I am. Not even my opinions have changed, really.
I can speak more of this new language and I might change my haircolor but that’s about it. I think I’m ok with that. Who I was – and am – is what got me here in the first place.