So, in my dream last night… I know, I know, never the most fascinating way to start the conversation. But seriously, in my dream last night Ryan got a new position with his company… in Dallas, Texas. This isn’t too realistic (it would most likely be Houston if Texas ever came calling). Now, I know better than to mess with Texas (it is, after all, the home of my dearest girlfriend Emily, queso, and “Friday Night Lights”). Still, I was actually disappointed, realizing it wouldn’t be so easy to leave the close friends (er, friend) I’ve made here and the life Ryan and I have set up for ourselves. It wasn’t because I didn’t like the new destination or was all that in love with the old; it was simply because even in dreamland I didn’t necessarily want to start over.

The view during the first month I lived by Ocean Beach, 2009.

Nearly a year into the adventure that is Santiago, I feel fortunate to have all the signposts of a fulfilling life here: employment, friendships, awareness of where things are and how to get to them, some kind of small handle on the language, and, most importantly, a happy home with my husband. While I know the happy home is travel-proof, the thought of starting all over again with everything else is a little daunting, even though, in the waking world, I’m fully aware that that is the deal with this whole international lifestyle thing we signed on for.

So, as much as I may not be ready for the 30-year mortgage, I’m also not fully jazzed by the my-life-fits-in-three-cardboard-boxes deal either. I think we’ve struck more of a compromise than I realized. We’re settling in somewhere for a handful of years. We’re watching others come and go. We’re giving directions to those who ask and telling the newbie expats who the English-speaking doctors are. We’re gaining that experience that I was so starkly without those first few culture-shocked weeks (er, months). And we may be filling a few more boxes along the way.

What do we call this in-between phase? Our 30s? Settling down? Giving in?

Is it due to age? Ten years ago, you’d never get me to flip through a home decor magazine or look up recipe ideas for zucchini.

And the view my first month in Santiago, 2011.

Is it due to moving-itis? Last year, I moved from a San Francisco apartment I shared with a roommate to a layover stay in my childhood bedroom at my mom’s house to an apartment 6,000 miles away in order to finally move in with my husband. Now, I’m pretty content to sit back and kick my feet up on a coffee table that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Even when Ryan and I talk about finding a bigger place in Santiago, the thought of moving alone usually winds down the conversation. But who knows, a burst of energy or next great opportunity might come along, and we’ll be off. Again, we just don’t know for sure.

Is it a simply a need to cling to some sort of consistency? That as long as we know we’re here, we know it may not be perfect, but at least we have control over our surroundings and our goals and goings-on within them?

Who knows. Maybe I’ll dream up the answer. Somehow, I don’t think it’s all that important to know why, but just to feel that there are already some strings that tug when I think about (one day) leaving Santiago. It’s not something I expected to say this week, but that tricky subconscious thought otherwise.