I’m moving to Virginia.

So, that’s it. My big news. I’m executing 12-month Permanent Change of Station orders.

Back to my roots, my birthplace, my people. Back to dollars and baseball and the Fourth of July. Back to a full-time paycheck. Back to my American family.

It is, of course, bittersweet. I’ve been in England for nine years. Hubs and I have adopted a dog, made two humans, bought a house. We’ve weathered a miscarriage, a deployment, Covid. I’ve cycled through the IRR, a masters program, and a unit in Germany. I’ve been promoted, twice, and have a book on the way. I’ve bonded with my English family and absorbed British friends into my circle of trust. It’s been a wild ride.

I’m looking forward to this change. I feel the timing is right: for my career, for the kids. I’ll be able to hang with my twin whenever we want, a freedom we haven’t experienced in 22 years. My parents won’t have to fly over an ocean to say hello. I can roadtrip to see friends in far-off states. I’m excited.

But it’s stressful. These plans have been in the works for almost six months. The funding didn’t come through until ten days ago. My orders were finalized yesterday. I leave at the end of this month. We’re still not sure what my husband’s schedule looks like.

With only a draft copy of my orders, we signed a lease and wired the first month’s rent to a landlord we’ve never met for a house we’ve never stepped foot in. We’ll tell the kids about their big American adventure tomorrow. My three-year-old will probably return to Ol’ Blighty with a southern twang. I’m not sure if my daughter will be bummed to miss out a year with her school friends or escatic to get another transatlantic plane ride. I’m looking forward to big July 4th, Halloween, and Thanksgiving celebrations. There’s even talk of a visit to the Midwest for a long-overdue white Christmas.

A year will go fast. Work will be busy. School will be all-consuming. I will feel torn between two places as, I suppose, most expats do. But I’m ready. Something deep inside of me has been hankering to repunch my U.S. ticket and now’s my chance.

My British phase is not over by any means. This is just another fork in the path of life (oh yes, clichés before breakfast). As Arnie would say, I’ll be back.

Anne's avatar
I am an attack helicopter pilot turned writer. I live between England and America with my husband and our two children.

2 thoughts on “PCS”

  2. There will be quite an adjustment period. Life in Slough, England, for an active married couple with kids is like navigating a perpetual drizzle while juggling soccer balls, school runs, and the occasional escape to a pub for a pint. The kids are perpetually muddy from rugby practice, and the parents have mastered the art of navigating roundabouts without spilling their tea. Meanwhile, the family in Roanoke, Virginia, is living a life that seems plucked from a country music video. They’re herding their kids to baseball games, barbecues, and bluegrass festivals, all while dodging the occasional deer and wrestling with the WiFi that decides to take its own sweet time. In Slough, it’s all about brollies and baked beans; in Roanoke, it’s cowboy boots and cornbread. One family dreams of sunlit countryside strolls between rain showers, while the other contends with the challenge of keeping the squirrels out of the bird feeder and the kids from climbing the apple trees.

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