My writing skills cannot properly convey my excitement or relief. I could, I suppose, detail the overnight train trip to New York City, sleeping in Penn Station, and waiting outside the consulate in the snow only to discover I had the wrong type of birth certificate.
Or I could list the frenzied emails, texts, skype conversation received from my future wife about how this or that document was not yet processed, would not be processed in time and that therefore all the plans, all the plane tickets, all the reservations would be voided. I could tell you about all those moments, just before sleep, where a deep, unshakeable fear seized me that everything would not work out.
But that's far too much for introductory post.
If I could post a picture of my visa I would, but I am sure this is somehow illegal and I want to do nothing at this point to jeopardize my impending migration.
For those who don't know (or don't know me) I'm marrying a beautiful Swiss woman this summer and in five weeks I will be moving, indefinitely, to Switzerland. I thought to type the words would make it seem more real but it does not. Most of my life, writ in possessions, is still splayed about me here: the empty yogurt container on the desk, the couch behind me I'm not taking.
I feel like a fake. When you hear of people moving to Switzerland it's either investment bankers being relocated (though I suspect this happens less so these days) or author/artists retiring to the Swiss countryside in some chateau. I'm a teacher without a masters. A writer who hasn't published anything. I'm not well off enough to move to Switzerland. But moving I am.
I'm excited, as I mentioned before. I'm also apprehensive and this apprehension twists my digestive tract, shortens my breathing. In the coming weeks, in order to sort of work through it, I will chronicle, not laboriously, this process of moving. Answering questions like: what, exactly, will I do with all my shit?
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