There’s a common saying in the space I inhabit, this world of planes, trains, and moving trucks.

Safe travels and soft landings.

It’s a pleasant little phrase that encapsulates a lot of what makes up this revolving door existence.

Moving–whether it’s down the block or around the world-is not easy. In the Sweepstakes of Stressful Scenarios, it’s a chart topper, right up there with death and divorce. There is the physical stress that comes along with packing and culling and cleaning the grout, of making endless trips to the recycling center. There is the logistical stress that is part and parcel of closing up shop in one place and simultaneously hanging your We’re Open! sign in another, sometimes in different time zones or hemispheres.

Then there is the emotional stress–saying adieu to family, to friends, to schools and communities. Bye bye booze that you can’t bring and hej hej to the houseplants that need to be re-homed. Of course what you’re really saying goodbye to is the nest that that you built while you were there, the one you feathered with all the packing paper from the last time.

You’re saying goodbye to a place you called home, whether you were there for one year or twenty.

You can take a break from wrapping the china gravy boat you only use once a year. There’s a limited customer service window in which to beg with the banking overlords to do your bidding– which is probably good for everyone’s sanity. But the emotional stress? The emotional stress cuts you no slack.

Kermit taught me that it’s not easy being green but I gotta tell you, moving ain’t no picnic. Those who do it regularly know they’d choose being green over cardboard cuts any day of the week.

And so we send you off with our own little whispered prayer.

Safe travels and soft landings.

Safe travels–I hope you get there safely, my friend. I hope the airline gods or the roadside assistance crew is on on your side as you make your way from one page to the next in this great, old book of life. I hope the kids behave if they’re young and I hope they’ve got the right visas to re-enter the country from university if they’re not. I hope the passports are up-to-date and you remembered to put the driver’s license and residency cards back in your wallet. I hope the train drivers aren’t on strike and the baggage handlers don’t walk out. I hope the ferry has good fries–the salty and crispy kind– and that the ketchup isn’t too runny.

Soft landings--If you’re headed someplace new, I hope you meet that special life preserver of a friend who will help you navigate the hills and valleys of that first doozy of a year. I hope you can pronounce the name of the street you’ll be living on well enough for the taxi driver to understand. If you’re going back, I hope the change in the whos and the wheres aren’t too big to handle. I hope your bestie is waiting on your doorstep with a jug full of the relaxing tipple of your choice. I hope you land on your feet, not with the jarring ankle crunch of flying off a swing mid-flight, but with enough bounce to propel you forward into the next day. And then the one after that. And then one after that.

Mostly, I hope the edges of the goodbyes you said were not too sharp, that they didn’t slice and dice your heart like that damn mandolin did to my husband’s thumb once. That was a long time ago, but he still won’t cut the Christmas potatoes.

Safe travels and soft landings. We say it because we’ve been there and we know what it’s like. We know what’s in store and what’s in store is a lot of crap and arguing with the electricity company. What’s in store is six months of wondering if you made the right decision if the decision was up to you and cursing the HR department if it wasn’t. What’s in store is weeks of getting used to new people and street names and supermarket aisles and transit systems, of putting on your suit of best behavior until you get the lay of the land, of watching your kids like a mama hawk to make sure they’re not falling apart at the seams.

And hey Mama? Hey Papa? Don’t forget to keep an eye on your own seams. Moving has a bad habit of wearing down the velveteen on these old bones, of rubbing our emotions too hard.
Make sure you stuff that stuffing back in and reinforce the knots. Do what you need to do. I like to drown in a bottle of rosé and devour a bag of chips while watching cheesy teen romance movies, but you know, whatever you need.

Safe travels. May the winds be fleet but not turbulent and get you there safe and sound.

Soft landings. May it all turn out ok.

We say it because we mean it, because chances are it’ll be our turn again one day or soon enough and we hope we have friends who love us enough to whisper that little prayer in our ears.

Because in between this goodbye and the next hello, those words are a little bit of extra padding to make sure the fragile heart stuff doesn’t get busted in the move.

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For more about what life abroad is really like, make sure to check out my recent book, It’s a Lot to Unpack as well as There’s Some Place Like Home: Lessons From a Decade Abroad, available wherever you get your books online, including Hoopla.

You can keep up to date with my other writerly detritus by subscribing to my free monthly newsletter, Word of Honour.

And don’t forget to visit my author website, Dina Honour.

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