Jennifer in Luxembourg

Once again writing on the train... This week has been weird. I had an awesome weekend, hosting, and filled with new friends. But I think I'm going through a flare-up, as I've been in incredible pain a lot. And every time I'm in physical pain, my mind spirals like crazy. There's been a few kick me in the shins events too that have just added to the heaviness.  But yesterday L was back from Hungary, and messaging me about my sad posts as he always does. We ended up chatting briefly as I walked home and he was so encouraging and positive. Assuring me once again that I could always call him, but also challenging me to tap into the positivity. I was surprised: typically he is the doom and gloom and I try to be the sunshine, so the role reversal humored me.  This morning I interviewed a candidate for a position like mine and reviewed a resume for another one. The resumes were impressive, as were the candidates. I felt so woefully inadequate to be in my role. Most of the candi...

* written yesterday morning* I’m sitting in the town hall alone, waiting for my ticket number to be called. Tomorrow is six months in Luxembourg. My rule to never cry at my house still stands firm. But apparently that means ugly crying on the sidewalk in the central square instead. It’s only 8:19 but today feels so long.  I went to exchange my drivers license. Over the last few weeks I’ve been painstakingly checking off the items on the list it said to bring. Police clearances, scans of IDs and old cards. And yesterday morning I got up extra early, travelled 30 min in the opposite direction from work to go to the grocery store and get an ID photo printed so everything would be perfect. Yesterday I double checked the list on the website and made sure to put all the papers into my backpack. Another early morning today to ensure I could find the place, be on time, and make it to work on time for meetings.  Only to be told I was missing a USA police form and needed to get...

My mission lately has been to sort out my house. And I've come across a few things from my dad. The first is my music binder. I remember when I was 10 and began playing piano at church. All the other girls had these 3-ring binders with sheet protectors, and everyone had a fancy WordArt cover page claiming the binder on their own with a simple black and white graphic of some sort on the front. I desperately wanted to be like the "big girls" and part of the in-club. They weren't always kind, and definitely had an air of superiority. I remember for my birthday, when my dad presented me with a box. I opened it to find the coveted sleeve protectors, but to my surprise the package was open and the slippery sleeves fell out of the box. That's because my dad had opened and put a few into the binder, and printed the cover. I remember feeling such pride and gratitude looking at it. Fitting in wasn't always the most easy thing growing up, but something I desperately crav...