Maybe leaving's not the only way to go

I'm going to have to change the header description of this blog.

I'm leaving Mexico, you see - I received notice last week. The head office of the company I work for here scouted me back in February and I just completed a lengthy, rather strenuous interview process for a really exciting position based in the London office. They want me there "as soon as possible," although they grant me the time required to get my visa in order and, you know, move my entire life across the ocean. I should be there in a month or so, by my math.

When they first approached me with the opportunity, I was beyond thrilled. Sitting on the beach in San Agustinillo, Oaxaca, I wished on every single falling star (and, so far from any city, there were a lot of them) that it would happen. Digging my way up from dead-end-job-related depression, I told everyone who would listen that it was time for me to leave Mexico, while I still loved it but now that I could no longer see a future for me here.

And then it happened. I apparently impressed the Chief Information Officer enough that he offered me the position on the spot, tacked onto the end of what was just supposed to be an interview. The formal paper offer should arrive this week, which I will of course sign and return in due haste, feigning pure enthusiasm.

See, the thing is... It's not pure enthusiasm anymore.

It's still a phenomenal opportunity and, without question, the right thing to do, yes, I get that, I don't doubt that. Turning it down is not an option.

What's changed is angle from which I'm seeing this phenomental opportunity. Back in February, placing all my hope in the symbolism of a stellar flash, this was a matter of moving on from a job I find woefully unfulfilling in favour of a great career lunge forward. It was pure adrenaline, careerwise.

Now we are also talking about leaving Mexico.

Now I am wandering this city realizing that this could very well be my last time in front of my favourite statue in the Metropolitan Cathedral, my last chance to have tostadas in the market in Coyoacan. I wonder if I've already had my last visit to Xochimilco. I wonder if I'll ever see that perfect beach in San Agustinillo again.

And let's not even talk about the fact that I will have to abandon my cats for six months, while they await the results of the blood tests required before the UK will let them in.

Oh Mexico.

I am suddenly acutely aware of everything I'm giving up: the music, the colour, the life - those elements of Mexican passion that intoxicate me, teach me, that have changed me immeasurably. Has three years gone so fast? Perhaps if they delay in sending me the paperwork, I can delay that final goodbye.

I have this weakness, see? I am absolutely horrible at goodbyes, especially when they're going to hurt. I will see a beloved friend off at the airport with a curt, "right then, see you," before striding away without looking back. If I am forced to look goodbye in the face, I will dissolve into fretful tears, pleas to stay/to come/to make the sorrow go away, an almost childish fear of change. I wonder as the plane takes off whether the joy of being in a place justifies the immense pain of leaving.

I am deeply deeply afraid of this goodbye.

For the record, though, I do intend to keep blogging. The cultureshock factor will continue, both while in London and in the locations this new position will take me: Dubai, Tokyo, Sydney, Sao Paulo, Berlin, Kurdistan, etc, etc, etc. This new chapter is going to be immensely exciting...