Category Archives: The Hague

Jun23

Letting it flow… snippets of writing the day away

Posted on June 23, 2018 by terryannewilson

The wind and cloudy skies have dampened the mood of the city today, yet it’s been an inspiring Friday thus far. Sitting in a cozy cafe close to the elegant Denneweg, I muse on the creative day that has been.

My co-author of Monday Morning Emails Jo Parfitt is away, and so I stepped up to host her monthly Writer’s Circle. It is only next door after all, my solid hunter-green door just a few steps away from her lovely Den Haag home. I arrived first, greeting familiar faces and a few new arrivals– writers bond quickly, a shared love of words and stories connecting us as snugly as well-bound novel.

A writer’s circle or workshop often warms up with a ‘speed writing’ session, putting pen to paper for ten minutes… your free flowing thoughts, loves, despairs, perhaps challenges, and hopefully some joys, are prompted to flow forth. Today I decided to give the exercise a slight twist. In that curiously circular way, I was inspired by a friend’s blog that was in turn inspired by a virtual writer’s circle held by Jo. In her blog Up In the Air, Nikki Cornfield had reminded us of how enlightening it can be to write of the seemingly mundane,

“Easy, I thought, but being a writer where’s the fun in telling you “I fed the dog” or “I brewed some tea?” That’s when I paused and took a real hard look at what there was to love about the place I lived. It took some doing as it was a pretty dull weekend, but I like to paint a picture with words so here we go… look around you, smell the roses, as there is real beauty even in the humdrum. I will never look at hanging out the washing in quite the same way again…”

And so this morning we let it flow, breathing life into vignettes of everyday happenings – cleaning up after the dog and stopping to reflect the stages in life it had faithfully witnessed with the passing years or donning a tour guide ‘hat’ for visitors or maybe the abrupt, loving appreciation of a town when one’s relocation is imminent. And who would imagine that tidying one’s ample stash of knitting wool could bring comfort and a reflection on how precious life is after the loss of loved ones. We also enjoyed an ode to yoga, how the wonder of a class can embrace vitality and soften smiles, even for the teacher. The snippets were beautiful in their simplicity, but infused with raw emotion.

So here goes. As the clouds roll lazily over the somber Dutch sky, it is the perfect afternoon to write a few of my own snippets from the simple pleasures of our week passed.

Kayaking the canals of Den Haag

Then we were kayaking. The sleek, slender boat gliding and rustling the fields of water lilies – delicate vivid white petals against murky, pea-soup canals. Boats lined the waterways, some rather grand, but most were old peeled-paint affairs, their worn timber evoking the toil of fishermen and weathering of stormy seas. We glided through tunnels, ducking my head in sudden alarm at pigeons, and poop, avoiding fluttering wings and the mild stench.

Then out again into the brilliant sun. Paddling past fine tall houses, spires of heaven-reaching church towers, shaded tree-lined boulevards, and bikes and bikes aplenty. We passed ‘invitations’ to snack; a bell to ring for an ice cream to be delivered to your boat or maybe you’re in the mood for patat, french-fries lowered to water level in a basket. The pulley system works well, I’m taken by the simple novelty of it. On a sunny day after all, the waterways are often a place for making merry. If the sun shines, it’s great to be on the water!

“This is nice,” I said understatedly, turning to my kayaking partner with a smile. We’ve paddled the pristine lakes of Canada, the chilly fjords of Norway, now the narrow canals of The Netherlands… joy indeed!

Strolling and soaking it up… and new herring with Mom

She has always loved herring, the Dutch way; chopped onions over raw, slinky fish. Despite my Dutch heritage, I can’t bear them. But to Mom, it’s a delectable delight that awaits her return to the country of her childhood, like a fond friend.

The setting was the harbour of Scheveningen on a festival day. A day of marching and trumpeting bands, bright flags fluttering from ship’s rigging, vendors offering pancakes and poffertjes, old trinkets, porcelain blue and white, and of course that herring that cause for a festival.

Mom and I were lingering over this and that, when some lovely ladies caught our eye. They wore their beguiling baby blue capes and delicate bejewelled headdresses with pride and aplomb, tradition on display. No, they are not worn much these days, more for weddings, funerals and days like today the friendly locals related proudly to us. A day where vestiges of the past are showcased for posterity, celebrating Scheveningen’s proud fishing heritage. In fact today’s Vlaggetjedag (Flag Day) heralds the first herring catch of the season, traditionally presented to the King or Queen.

From one distraction to another, a drai orgal, a colourful traveling organ, chimed its merry tunes. The sound evoked a child’s ferris wheel, its lyrical melodies exuberant and hopeful. I could see memories flooding across mom’s eyes playing out scenes from her childhood. I imagined her as a ten year-old, in the days before she immigrated to a new land, dark curls bobbing as she skipped alongside the wondrous contraption. “A dubbeletje for your music Meneer!”

Delft and its master, the esteemed Vermeer

We take the tram to Delft. So easy. Jump on the tram not five minutes from the apartment, and twenty minutes later we alight in one of the loveliest small cities in the country. Wend through a narrow lane, over a tiny bridge or two, and before you lies such a pretty picture. And so timeless, had we perhaps stepped back into the scene of a Dutch masterpiece?

Tall gabled homes squeeze cozily wall to wall, like fine aged town folk, framing the generous main square over which they preside – the ever-so-tall church spire at one end, the ornate city hall at the other.

Church bells peal and chime a lyrical melody. Silken, adorned horses wait patiently rigged at the head of a carriage for touring. Bright waxen, yellow wheels of cheese stack neatly in the shop windows of the square. And blue and white porcelain too – of every imaginable size and function, arrayed to entice and please passing tourists.

It is all typically, wonderfully Dutch, perhaps what a visitor might expect and I channel this scene to indulge in a little time-travel; back to a certain citizen who lived his creative life along these cobbled streets. The great painter, Vermeer, captured the light and the people of this charming town in exquisite reality, portraying them in their own seemingly mundane tasks. He was one of the great Dutch masters. Yes Rembrandt, Hals and Van Gogh are also revered, but for me, it is Vermeer who inspires me to write.

Sunlight strains through brooding clouds, a play of light on stone and cobbles. Baristas deliver coffee flitting from table to table, some patrons now partaking of a late afternoon glass of wine. And still I linger, the light inspiring me to write of my favourite Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer. I reflect on his life and works, and a clear image of his widowed wife comes to me. And so, I write in her voice…

December 30th, in the year of Our Lord 1675

My Dearest Mother,

It has been just fifteen days since we buried our dear Johannes and I lament still that your fragility prevented you journeying here to Delft. We live day by day. Johannes has left us surrounded by paintings, most of which he tried in vain to sell. It is my firm conviction that our financial stresses led to his illness… and oh how we miss him.

Eleven children now mourn for their father as we persevere in our family home in Papenhoek, just off the town square. Rooms brimming over with pigments and palettes, with brushes and easels. How my dear Johannes adored this home and his beloved Delft with its bustling port and its skilled artisans – the tapestry weavers, the earthenware potters and the beer brewers. There are many wealthy citizens but alas, not the Vermeers.

And I despair, for these distinguished burgers have not seen the genius of my husband. Yes Johannes Vermeer is recognised as a good painter, yet now his forlorn studio echoes with paintings bequeathed to me and some to you dear mother. But indeed, I wish they had been sold.

I see some beauty in them of course, yet I find the scenes almost frivolous. A milk maid pouring milk from a pretty jug. A lady penning a letter, receiving one or even reading one in earnest. I often asked what was the intention, so ordinary did these scenes appear. Our Johannes would explain, “Liefde, one must think of the symbolism. Notice the map in the foreground, the ship sailing, the letter in my subject’s hand. It is news of her loved one, this Golden Age has taken him to the East Indies to trade spices and even our fine Delft blue and white,” Johannes would explain patiently.

“And look at the objects I have staged so well,” he would elaborate, pointing with his painting stick. “The apples for temptation, the walnut cracked in two for wanton adultery. The feathery hat for frivolity, or the organ piano being caressed by a woman’s hand.” Goodness dear mother, all this talk would force me to blush. I who have given birth to more children than I can count!

But I do understand his use of light and of colours. Indeed was he not a master? Only the finest pigments were procured. The deepest of blues – indigos from India, Laapis Lazuli from Aghanistnan, or fine cobalt. He loved spanish green, earth green and that haunting umber – a green brown from Umbria in Italy itself. And of course there was always ochre- red to replicate the abundance of bricks in this fine city of Delft.

Yes, he played with these colours and created hues of lights that only he could conjure. Light that was bright, filtered, soft and shining. Or perhaps watery and smooth, gleaming, even falling. Yes the ways of light are cunning and Johannes knew them well.

Dear mother, you shall soon have your choice of a few of his works. Perhaps you would like a particular small pretty painting of young woman with pearl earrings. It bears a slight resemblance to our dear Rosa, she is mourning her father terribly. For myself, I am only interested in the Little Street painting. This is who our dear Vermeer truly was. A simple man who gazed out to that scene from his studio and often remarked, “life is captured in the seemingly mundane, the precious simple moments.”

And so I must sign off for now, the bells at noon have tolled and the children will soon be asking for their bread and cheese. I shall write often dear mother. Please know you are in our thoughts until we see you soon.

Your loving, Catharina Bolnes Vermeer

And with this, the inspiration of the morning has worked its magic. I have conjured and imagined, mused and written.

And I challenge. Poise a pen over a blank page and let it flow….

“

Jun8

Wherever I may hang my hat…

Posted on June 8, 2018 by terryannewilson

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I’ve hung my hat for a short sojourn in The Netherlands. The suitcases are unpacked and the few collectibles I’ve trailed from India — through Greece, Scotland and England — have found their rightful, if temporary spot. The furnished apartment feels more like our home as books (always too many), a lovely scented candle, and an old, smuggled Indian globe now stamp it as our space… for just a while.

Throughout our global life, I have taken care to connect the threads that make our lives feel settled and substantial, wherever we may be. In leaving India, I made sure to cut those threads with care and appreciation as they bound us with a sense of belonging. Now here in The Hague, I find that I instinctively make the connections that will ensure we are grounded, only if it is to be for two months. I have always held that it is a privilege to experience another land’s traditions and culture, and carve your own special space amongst it.

And how could I fail to make those connections here, this land where my mother and first son were born. It’s a place where the cadence of the Dutch language is welcoming and the streetscapes seem as familiar as a well-worn wooden clog (shoe).

I feel myself lingering as I explore, appreciating and embracing in an almost heightened sense — the colours are more vivid, the buildings more dramatic, the scenes of every day family life reach towards me with a tender poignancy. Yes I remember fondly that it was once me cycling with my toddler, perched in the front of my bike through our quaint town of Oudewater. Now I wander down pretty cobbled streets recognising these as the rituals of reconnection, of embracing my new yet intrinsically familiar surroundings.

And of course as we’re in a country so abundant in blooms, a home isn’t a home without vases of tulips and peonies, so prolific at this time of the year. I’ve deviated from my predilection for white flowers, allowing rosy pink bloemen to flourish in the room — the fragrance of delicate peonies perfume the air amongst antique furniture, eclectic prints and tall sashed windows.

And one doesn’t have to venture far into the neighbourhood to also be beguiled by the scent of heavenly roses. They blossom prettily, adorning doors of blues and greens with lovely displays of pinks, reds, yellows and whites.

Our temporary abode is on a lively street, with embassies and lovely homes dotting the area. Wealthy merchants once called the ‘Archipel’ home, amassing great fortunes from ships plying the Dutch East Indies route loaded with rich commodities. These streets once echoed with the passage of the traders’ fine carriages — now it is with the tinkle of bicycle bells, the liveliness of chatter, the sing song of birds and chiming of church bells. Just along from us, past the forest, the cycle trail leads to nearby Scheveningen. It’s where sea meets endless sky and gentle dunes.

Our second story apartment looks out to a cafe that spills onto the broad sidewalk, the pastime of soaking up the sun with a coffee, a glass of wine or a pilsje is the norm. As chatter drifts up and I gaze out to the narrow, bricked homes nestled side by side like a child’s play town, I notice the poem on an adjacent wall.

Poems grace the walls of a number of buildings in this area of The Hague, perhaps a project to inspire and provoke. I find them marvellous — they cause one to stop and ponder, maybe even to construct one’s own.

I find myself purposefully wandering the cobbled streets to savour these verses, or to marvel at overflowing flower shops, or perhaps to admire benches doubling as resting places for potted flowers, and to take in the array of two-wheeled family ‘vehicles’ awaiting outside quaint homes. Cycling is intrinsic to everyday life — to get to school, to work, to shop, to cycle for the joy of it, and the Dutch have mastered bicycle infrastructure and design. I find myself also hopping on my borrowed omafiets (grandma bike) just because I can… to feel the breeze, to hear the cozy chatter of families as they pass on busy bike lanes.

Have I missed India? It was a cherished place to live for two years and we soaked up the colour, the unexpected and the history. The experience was like one of the treasured antique necklaces I bought from a local jeweller in Bangalore; intricate, imperfect, but ultimately beautiful as a whole. You cherish it, but it has to be removed and tucked away in a special place – in my memory and into the mosaic of my life. No, I cannot imagine not having lived there.

To live here now, for a spell is simply a joy. If it happens to only be for two months, we’ll embrace it with open arms, many vases of tulips, long bicycle trips, visits from family and we’ll say our many bedankts for the time being. And for the opportunity to live by my friend and co-author, Jo Parfitt… Monday Morning Emails can now be shared a doorway away. Even a place to welcome a visit from my mom!

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And just across the street, the poem on the wall of Hotel Mosaic inspires me to sum it up, it reads…

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the ice box

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold…

William Carlos Williams

If I had the chance to place my own words on the wall, I believe I would pen…

This Is Just To Say

Your tulips and roses

and cycles

so aplenty,

already fill

my vases,

and my soul.

Forgive me

I have chosen the last

bunch of peonies from

the bloomewinkel

they were so fragrant and full,

oh, so perfect…

Terry Anne Wilson

Mar20

Two book launches… an Indian chai cafe and a tall, Dutch gabled home

Posted on March 20, 2018 by terryannewilson

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I write from The Hague on a chilly March morning, just before I travel back to India. The Netherlands is one of the places in the world I most consider home. It is not surprising as I’m half Dutch – our first son was born here and I have visited often with my mother – keeping strong connections with our Dutch family.

And now, another of life’s milestones has unfolded amongst these cobbled streets and gabled homes that I so adore – my first book has been launched!

The setting was my co-author’s lovely, gezellig home. That Dutch word for cozy, typified the evening of March 7th. With a crackling fire, candles lit and tulips artfully arranged, and gifted, Jo Parfitt and I welcomed our guests. Many were dear friends who we see but once a year at the Families in Global Transition Conference; many having just arrived from the US, from Switzerland, Hong Kong or perhaps Dubai. Others were local friends or some involved in Jo’s mentoring and publishing life. All of them were congratulatory and pleased for us that Monday Morning Emails was ‘hot off the press’… stacks of boxes tucked away in a corner to prove it!

With Jo and I seated before the warmth of the fireplace, I peered out to the crowd of thirty or so people and soaked in the moment. A book launch is the gilded prize, reward for many hours of silent endeavour – the culmination of a dream. For me, it is my first published book and needless to say, I was a little ‘over the moon’.

“Your first book is always the most poignant,” Jo had admitted the day before as she handed the book to me for the first time.” Its silky cover was more lovely than I had hoped. When I thumbed to the back, to my author’s page, I was euphoric.

The evening of the book launch progressed with readings and discussions. Also with my penning many heartfelt messages as I signed copies of the book. And curiously, after all of this, I found myself back at my hotel, sitting cozily and reading a little of our book. Through it all, I was enveloped in sheer contentment and joy. Yet Monday Morning Emails is not always an easy, calm read. It is thought-provoking and truthful, a vulnerable exchange between global mothers. Between the two of us, Jo and I have raised five sons around the world in twelve different countries. We have supported our husbands careers and found our passion in writing, mentoring and publishing. But with that has come myriad issues as the backdrop of our life has changed every three, four, six years, perhaps after only three months!

In May of last year, Jo and I decided to write to each other every Monday. We well knew the power of writing and initially thought our book would be about the empty nest stage and raising global children, especially as each of us had a son who was having a difficult time with depression and anxiety. As we wrote of this, our dialogue also turned towards the loss of identify of children, building homes for ourselves against an ever-changing backdrop, ageing parents, health and wellness, traumatic childhood experiences – the topics tumbled forth. We found that over the six months we migrated organically from subject to subject exploring not only trying times, but also of great joy. We have experienced so much that makes a global life worth living – unique cultural experiences and privileged insights that we forever treasure.

Our accounts are truthful and personal, and we thank our family for understanding our ‘mission’ – to enlighten, to offer solace, to let people know that they are not the only family going through issues. “Mom, I don’t mind if you write my story,” my youngest son said with support. “If it can help someone not go through what I did, or help parents, then I’m happy to do that.”

That evening of the book launch not only did I think of my family, who happened as is often the case to be scattered to the four winds – in Canada, in India, in Nepal. But I thought of a group of wonderful people that had already helped launch Monday Morning Emails. A few days before I had travelled to The Hague, I had given a two-day writer’s workshop in Mysore, India. Two hours by train southwest of Bangalore, Mysore is a charming small city that I have visited often and it has always felt like home.

As always, I was welcomed with open arms, arms which extended to an invitation to speak at the launch of a ‘Chai Patthe’ book club event. I had mentioned to my husband that indeed it was an honour to be doing this, but thank goodness I hadn’t been asked to be the ‘chief guest’ as I noticed the title on the announcement. Yet as the book club launch unfolded, that is indeed what seemed to happen.

The setting was an older bungalow that had been transformed into a charming Chai cafe. Older repurposed doors dotted the long narrow room, by coincidence coloured in the same hues as our book theme. I felt immediately at home.

The room was full, prompting some guests to listen and peer through the old barred windows of the once cozy bungalow. Seated up front as one of the ‘dignitaries,’ I gave a short speech. I mentioned how book clubs had always played an important role in my overseas life and how I had journeyed from avid reader to now, a published author. Without an actual copy of Monday Morning Emails, I had wrapped a copy of the book cover around a random book – yes pretending it was really the published version! The crowd chuckled when I admitted the truth, that in fact the launch was going to be held the following week in The Hague.

“When is the launch in India?” one of the guests asked eagerly.

“There isn’t one planned,” I admitted, not anticipating what was to come.

“Well,” someone chimed in, “this can be your launch in India. Now, here in Mysore.”

“Yes, in India before anywhere else!” another attendee added proudly.

“Can we? How wonderful,” I think I exclaimed and then proceeded to read the back of the book blurb, just to make it ‘official.” A round of applause erupted. I was asked questions and a lively discussion followed. Yes, just like you might with a true author… it was starting to feel more and more real. It was a magical evening with people who have become friends and wonderfully, many with whom I’ve shared the joy of writing. And so that evening in The Hague was of course our official launch, but how fortunate am I to have had two such poignant events.

Monday Morning Emails is part memoir, part diary, part self-help. The latter part of the book gives way to advice from eight different experts – including counselling, psychology, retirement, career advice and wellness.

The support that we’ve received since the publication of Monday Morning Emails has been heartwarming. It appears to resonate with readers, offering an unvarnished glimpse of a life that often seems so glamorous, yet is played out in the same ordinary tones as life ‘at home’. For this reason, it is also a book for those who don’t live a peripatetic life but live in one place, yet also face many of the same issues.

It is also starting conversations between parents and children, even those who are older and lived an expat life before any dialogue about this unique life was the norm. Many have also shared that it would be a good read for book clubs to discuss, and with that in mind, we are formulating book club questions and a Monday Morning Emails website.

It turns out that writing of the present and reflections of the past, was not only therapeutic, it was a joy to claim our stories. For indeed, our collected stories are narrations of life’s journey, whether they be global or otherwise. And after all, mothers are mothers wherever we may call home.

My first touch of Monday Morning Emails

Apr13

Finding Your Passion…a pecha-kucha

Posted on April 13, 2017 by terryannewilson

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These past few months found me preparing for the Families in Global Transition Conference. I was to deliver a short speech – set to twenty slides that shift every twenty seconds. It’s been described as, “Say it in six minutes and forty seconds with exquisitely matched words and images, then sit the heck down!”

This concept is a complete departure for someone like me who, as a former tour guide, is given to elaborating, meandering and drawing out a story like a languorously painted mural. Challenged not only by brevity but by the need to memorize my impactful six minutes and forty seconds, I was in new territory.

Two Tokyo based architects are credited with this mode of communication which endeavours to convey a message not just succinctly, but also poignantly. Their innovation, dubbed pecha-kucha ペチャクチャ, means ‘chatter’ or ‘chit-chat’ in Japanese. However this translation is rather misleading. Chit chat usually implies an unrehearsed and natural exchange, but as I’ve recently discovered, pecha-kucha is anything but this.

I was one of six delegates at the recent FIGT Conference tasked with delivering this precise format. Before traveling to The Hague from our various parts of the world, we each embarked upon days of preparation – writing the narrative, selecting slides, rehearsing tone, rhythm, injecting meaning and emotion, honing and memorizing. I hadn’t appreciated that something so brief could have demanded such commitment.

I recall sitting in a coffee shop in my hometown of Kimberley, the ski hill my backdrop, the deadline looming. My thoughts were crystal clear as the idea had percolated for months, yet I had no idea how to combine eloquence with economy to finesse everything into just under seven minutes.

For me, opportunities such as the FIGT Conference are a cause for pause and for celebration. The four day gathering is a meeting of people discussing, disseminating, listening, learning and sharing – then taking these ideas back to our global community.

Those of us who move from county to country settling our families with seeming ease and confidence, in reality face myriad complex issues. The conference is a yearly gathering, our forum to revisit and resolve those challenges in the embrace of friends – old and new.

We discuss essential matters such as Third Culture Kids (children raised in cultures different from their parents) and their transitions, identity and professional challenges. We talk of dealing with family issues from afar, educational challenges and a host of other topics. Yet along with these weighty matters, I wanted to celebrate the joy and abundance this life on distant shores offers.

And so the stage was set in The Hague. We had rehearsed, cued our slides – even selected our preferred microphone – the time had come to translate hours of preparation into an impactful six minutes and forty seconds. We had become our own little tribe of support and encouragement. “The audience is great, you’ll be fine once you’re on the stage”, each speaker rallied as they came ‘backstage’ to the sound of applause, a look of pride and elation etched on relieved faces.

The Ignite Speakers after rehearsal with Lisa, our mentor

Maryam Afnan Ahmad enlightened and inspired on the experiences and the ‘why and how of Muslim
expatriates’. Lisa Travella-Murawsky spoke to ‘the power of team sports to create a diverse tribe’. The audience heard of how a vibrant TCK English teacher, Megan Norton, ‘created a globally local network in a Hungarian village’. Maria Lombart’s poignant ‘perspective of childhood losses, TCK’s and identity development’ was a reminder of the strength and resilience it takes to transition from an upbringing in a distant land. Janneke Muyselaar-Jellema spoke of her heartfelt journey from a life in Africa to home in the Netherlands; ‘how to find your voice, your tribe and other voices through blogging’.

For myself? I shared my journey from self-doubt and longing for meaning, to this abundant and fulfilled time in my life. And I was humbled by the reactions. My presentation seemed to trigger thoughts of creativity, provide catharsis and forgiveness for times in one’s life which might have been more productive. To my great joy, I’m told that it inspired.

FIGT has that impact on people; it elicits conversations and narratives, inspires and questions, heals and reassures. It fosters connections and communities, forges friendships and kindredness. I hope you’ll think of joining us at next year’s conference – you’ll be welcomed into the warmth and wisdom of this global community.

But for now, may I offer just a bit of ‘chit chat’…

Finding Joy and Abundance as an Expat – Planning your Fulfilled Life Abroad and Building Your Tribe.

It is just one story…of self doubt and longing, of joy and passion, of fulfilment and possibilities. It is my journey.

How I dreaded hearing it, “find your passion” you have all the time in the world. Find something that will bring you joy. And except for raising three busy sons…I had time.

A stamp in my passport while living in the U.S. for 6 years reminded me…not allowed to work. I volunteered, I took some courses, I even worked ‘under the table’ in interior design.

I did what we expats know how to do. I settled my family in yet another country and got on with it. Yet by year 5, I questioned my identity, my purpose, and yearned for fulfillment.

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I had taught English in Japan, Qatar and Oman. I had made a difference in people’s lives.

I now had an overwhelming sense of under achievement and felt that time was slipping away. And then I heard…our next posting is Norway. I was overjoyed.

But before I could move forward, I had to forgive myself for lost time, for what I hadn’t done. And I vowed to treat the next country as an opportunity for growth, a place perhaps to find that elusive passion.
As the endless rain and the autumn winds welcomed us to Norway, our lively
household dwindled from five to three. And for months, I surrendered to the adjustment and the heartache, of two children an ocean away.

The sad reality was, only I could rescue myself. It was time for resolve, time to move forward. Time to embrace new opportunities and weave a different path which is often easier in a new country. Time to re-set, to re-create, to move out of my comfort zone.

I took stock of my strengths and my shortcomings…hopeless with numbers and technology. Yet intensely curious about cultures, research and passionate about history.

As important as it had been to me, I declined to teach as I had in other countries. I believed there would be a new opportunity and if I reverted to what I knew, I would not be in a position for this new country to infuse and inspire with its beauty and uniqueness.

And it did! I studied and became a tour guide and admittedly a bit of a crazed Viking expert. Weaving historical narratives that entertained and enlightened, I met and worked with from people from around the world; I simply loved it.

Yet the narratives were ephemeral and sailed away with passengers that had heard them. But now without a doubt, I knew history and culture were my passion.

Travel diaries lined my shelves and hinted at the future. A borrowed book led me to a writer’s retreat, in Tuscany, led by Jo Parfitt.

Serendipity is not luck, it is the art of placing oneself in new situations which might just bear fruit, revealing something new about yourself. For me that was Tuscany.

Was it frightening and challenging…yes

Instructive and inspiring…yes again

Life Changing…absolutely

I had taken a chance, found my voice and the belief that just perhaps, I could share my passions through my writing.

But the path wouldn’t be quite that easy.
We departed my beloved Norway and soon called the soviet-style streets of Kazakhstan home. And we became empty-nesters.

Without a school network to ground you and with a yearning for your children to completely unsettle you, you must learn to live with the new reality.

And I believe to be what is truly important….it is essential to ready yourself for daily life without your children. Embrace your uniqueness, your talents and thrive.

And I did…I became a writer! My passions now conveyed in my blog, endeavouring to inform, entertain, inspire and make the world a smaller place.
In Kazakhstan we found ourselves living in a hotel suite, the Caspian my backdrop, a world of time before me.

My writing flourished, I travelled more, I jaunted off to another writer’s retreat, FIGT was now marked on my calendar. Take advantage of what more time allows…

As a fellow empty nester recently mused at a cafe in Singapore, “What is there not to like? I have a beautifully structured day with endless possibilities. And I can have a gin tonic at 5:00 o’clock with impunity!”

She is in my ‘tribe’, we were writers at FIGT 3 years ago. A reminder that your tribe will grow effortlessly and beautifully, as you journey on a path with like-minded people.

I now live in India, country number nine. A place easy to succumb to the travails of expat life….the pollution, the chaos of the roads, the distance from family in Canada.

Yet on most days I choose to be joyful; to embrace the colour, the culture, the mysteries of India.

These are the joys: of discovery, of evolving, of fulfillment in whatever that may be for you. Happily for me, it is having collaborated on a book this past year…it seems I’m an author.

I recall something my husband said, on one of those despairing days in Houston. “Imagine how great it will be when you’re part of a group who shares the same interests and dreams..”

He didn’t use the word tribe…but that is indeed what has transpired.
Perhaps my most read blog… a ‘trailing spouse’ sums it up best.

Checking in at the airport to return to Kazakhstan, an agent said, ”That’s a fine set of luggage Ms. Wilson.”

I chuckled a thank you, what was I really thinking? There’s more in there than you’ll ever know. My resilience, my wanderlust, my talents, my joy.

Photos of my precious family and my partner that I’m more than willing to accompany anywhere in this beautiful world.

My tribe, I’ll find them scattered here and there.
So there is never truly ‘wasted time’ if we grow from it.

I would not change those six years in Houston, I realize now it was a crucial part of my path. And the abundance in my life now is that much more meaningful.

A lesson perhaps, it is not just the destination that should bring us joy…it is indeed the entire journey.

Now you know how it’s done. I challenge educators to encourage their students to explore this format. They’ll walk away having delivered a message in a structured, engaging method and I believe they’ll feel as I now do…of enrichment, growth and immense satisfaction from the experience.