Why leave all this? Our repatriation story begins…

A family member visiting us in late spring was incredulous.

‘But why would you leave all this? For Aberdeen?’

By All This they meant the leafy suburbs of western Paris, with the city of lights just a twenty-minute train journey away, a spacious house and garden within walking distance of a prestigious, cosy school, all surrounded by boulangeries and cafés and restaurants and a supportive community.

I heard still more in their All This. I thought also of the fourteen years of living abroad, of adventure and novelty around every corner. I thought of the infinite possibilities of unknown futures and new connections to be discovered. I thought of the intensity of friendships formed in international communities, and the shared understanding across cultures and continents with people I’d yet to even meet. I thought of the privilege of rent and school fees paid, of a fresh start in an exciting location every few years.

Why would we leave All This? Why would we go back?

Why indeed? Is it such a simple choice?

I was always aware that the greatest privilege of our globally mobile life was the freedom to choose. Someone who immigrates, for whatever reason – whether to keep a family together, for improved quality of life, for greater economic security, or for survival – has less of that choice, to one degree or another. Permanent residency in one country means giving up freedoms in another. It requires a commitment to integration – psychologically, culturally, logistically – that someone like me could bypass. When MT’s company assigned him to a country for two or three years, it was on an ‘expatriate’ contract. And although that might have made it seem like we had less choice, that our moves were at the company’s whim, it was always our choice to continue. As expats, we were free to return to our passport country whenever we liked (job security aside, but with options there too), knowing that we could enjoy all the benefits of living somewhere else while the company enabled it.

We also have the choice to try and live somewhere else permanently, to immigrate and make that country our long-term home. That choice, then, would mean giving up our expat status. At this moment, when the time was right for us to bring some consistency and permanence to our boys’ lives, that wasn’t the choice we wanted to make. So yes, we’ve left Paris and returned to Aberdeen.

If we’d stayed in Paris to aim for consistency and permanence there? We’d no longer have that contract that offers benefits in return for our transience and mobility. The company would no longer be paying our rent or the fees for the prestigious school. We would have to find a different school, different neighbourhood, and commit to integration. I wouldn’t have the same freedom to work freelance and creatively every day. Or to explore the city and enjoy the cafe lifestyle, sharing it with our visitors whenever I liked. It would be our choice, would very likely offer great quality of life, but a whole different set of challenges. It would certainly not be All This.

We chose to leave what we couldn’t keep anyway (a fact that helped us enjoy it so wholeheartedly while we had it). In fact, we barely chose it in the first place – it chose us and we chose to say yes. We said yes to the school and the house and the neighbourhood. We didn’t go looking for them. We said yes to Paris because…who wouldn’t?

What a privilege, to not even have to go looking for the life but to have it presented to us. Our responsibility was to enjoy it and make the most of the opportunity.

When I wavered at the thought of giving up the privilege, I reminded myself why. I always wanted to give my children a taste of how I grew up, with continuity, the chance to follow through on a passion, to form long-lasting community. I would nudge myself too, with images of creating a home that belongs to me, of investing energy in a space, of putting the Christmas decorations back in the same cupboard each year. As I said goodbye yet again this summer, I reminded myself that the connections I would make in our next location could endure, that I could embed myself, too, in longer-lasting community. In the moments when all that still didn’t quite feel enough to balance against the adventure, I focused on the very practical cause of continuous schooling, leading to access to free university places for Scottish residents of at least three years. Then, we counted ourselves very lucky that the plans fell into place, with MT’s company offering him a good role in Aberdeen at the right time.

And of course, we can still choose our own adventure. We can enjoy novelty by treating our old home as a new one, and by seeking out new connections and community. There are plenty corners of this city and still more of the country that we can discover, that are new-to-us. I can seek out new communities that will make for intense connections, and there’s no way I’m letting go of the online community that sees me connected with like-minded people around the world. The possibilities are still infinite.

Which is not to say this transition will be easy – far from it. Many have told me that repatriation is the hardest move. I’ve decided to write my next book about the process as I go through it, writing in real time about the discoveries ahead. The first chapter was written as we prepared for the move, in response to all the things people said about repatriation (including that one – that it’s “the hardest move”). For now I’m calling it The Repat Project and you can read it here as a Patreon subscriber. (Actually, there’s another secret title that I’ve shared only with Patrons so far!) I hope you’ll check it out.

In the meantime, I’d love to know if you have any questions, or your own repatriation stories to share. Comment below or send an email to catriona@thefrustratednester.com.