Dear future hubster,
By now you should have somehow realised that your future wife is a bit of a traveller. You might have also noticed that although I am one to go with the changes, I might not necessarily be one who enjoys them immensely (to put it mildly). Probably because I ache to belong? But I also ache to be recognised, appreciated, wanted, and if it doesn't happen, I get itchy to look for it elsewhere.
Luckily, I'm not the only one. The upside of being one constantly on the search is that there are many others, and the more I move around, the more of them I know. And the best thing that can happen to anybody arriving to a new place after having left everything behind yet another time is to know that somebody is already there.
Somebody of the same tribe, somebody who knows how it feels, how it's exciting and terrifying and shiny brand new and sad and funny and joyful and overwhelming and bizarre. Somebody who doesn't ask the big whys, just tells you the little hows. Somebody who, by their simple existence, can prove you that yes it is possible and you will be just fine, and at the same time knows without saying that it's bloody hard and it might take a while until you're actually fine.
Eventually, you become that somebody. And when the next one arrives, you're grateful again that you're not alone, that your experiences, although personal to you, are not unique. You're not that special.
You might not see these people very often, or ever again, but the moment when they were there remains an important one. A melodramatically bonding one. We just don't talk about it much, because we are these cool strong brave people (what all of those things mean is a story for another day).
So until you come around, dear future hubster, and we can do this nonsense together, I will keep relying on and being deeply grateful for these people. And once you're around, know that you and I, we are going to be those people.
