About a year ago I made a couple of big decisions. I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend in a sad but not acrimonious way. He wasn’t a bad guy, just not the right guy for me, though he seemed to be a bit slow in realizing this. He was one of those guys who seemed to prefer to completely ignore the obvious if it meant not having to deal with difficult conversations. Or else he was just so clueless that he didn’t realize how incompatible we actually were, which may be closer to the truth. It was SO hard to break up with him because he so clearly had no idea anything was even wrong. And then he CRIED, which should just not ever be allowed in breakups. I felt horrible, like the lowest possible person EVER and I decided then and there that I was just not going to ever break up with someone ever again. PLEASE someone just break up with ME next time! Ok, not really, because I’m sure that’d suck too. Though on the other hand, there’d be less guilt. At the time that seemed like a huge plus.
It was painful enough that it drove me to swear of all Scottish men because I was convinced I couldn’t find the kind of guy I was looking for here. I figured they were all like the ex and I couldn’t stand dating someone only to find out after a month or two that they had the same flaws. (What drove me to break up with him were some pretty significant value differences that I just couldn’t live with. Sort of like a Democrat dating a Republican but only realizing it three months in. Damn these ridiculous British political parties! Why can’t just just have TWO and make things EASY?!)
The decision to swear off Scottish men led to a lot of soul searching about what I ultimately wanted in my life. I was closing in on 30, I was living in a foreign country and was single. The longer I stayed in Scotland the more likely it was that if I did meet someone that I liked and ultimately wanted to spend my life with, that person would be Scottish. This was obviously made more difficult by my decision not to date anymore, but we’ll ignore that fact. If I had the choice, did I want to end up with someone Scottish? Well…probably not, actually. Yes they’re generally cute and they have adorable accents and wear delicious items of clothing like kilts (YUM). But it’d also be really hard to end up with someone whose family lives thousands of miles away from my family. Somebody’s family would always be upset that we live SO far away and never visit! And unless I marry Mr. MacSuperRich, I won’t be doing a lot of travelling on my social worker’s salary. So. Scottish men = lots of dificulty.
Ignoring the man factor, because I was not at the time at all convinced that I’d meet someone I wanted to spend a couple of weeks with, much less my whole life, there were other considerations. Like the longer I stayed in Scotland the more established I’d become here and the harder it would eventually be to leave my friends and move home. Like it may be hard to transfer my job after staying here for too many more years. But also that I WANTED to move home. I missed my family. I MISS my family. I miss Portland. I wanted to go home. I love my friends here more than anything, but it was time to move home.
Besides, it is MURDER living without regular access to red vines.
So I decided. After my contract ended on 07 January 2010, I was moving home for good.
Then…I met The New Boyfriend.
And plans changed.