P: Ch-ch-ch-changes

My life spun off its axis a week ago.

If you'd asked, "Hey Danielle, how's life?" on June 30th, my answer would have sounded like this:

Professionally, I'm in a transition period. I'd love to do something with my new masters but don't have clarity as to what that would be -- and since it would likely require yet another expensive degree, it seems wise to sit on that decision a bit longer. My VA work has all but dried up and I can't find the passion/motivation to chase new clients, so I've ramped up my engineering freelance work to pay the bills. I've also continued my part-time work for nonprofit GripTape and the University of Edinburgh while also applying to remote/hybrid positions around the UK. Ultimately I don't think I can settle on new career plans until my visa expires in 2026, but I'm content with my patchwork approach for now and it works well as a frequent international traveler.

Socially, I need to expand my friend circle in Edinburgh. My local support network, which I adore, includes one who moves to the US in a month, two who will likely move away within the year, one who has started a demanding five-year psychology program, and one who has a kiddo/family. I find myself spending free time video chatting with friends in the States, which warms my soul but I really need to get out of the flat for live interactions more often. There are two post-it notes on my desk reminding me to "schedule networking events" and "sign up for an IRL club/course".

Familially, things are okay. My sister's planning a wedding for November and has a ton of support hashing out the details. My dad is back at work full-time and his cancer is at bay, but his recent post on CaringBridge outlines the various quaternary/quinary symptoms he's facing. My mom is keeping busy with selling a house, planning a move, working PRN, helping my dad, and being her generally sociable self. I'll video chat with them once every week or two but we text more often.

Romantically, my partner is still wonderful and supportive. We got to spend three weeks of June together in the States -- half of which with his awesome three year old -- and enjoyed "playing house". Speaking of, we're planning to build an actual house to hopefully be ready when I move back early 2026. We're very aligned on the design and have each gotten mildly obsessive with related projects -- me with building out a costing calculator in Excel, him with building the entire house in SketchUp and porting it into a VR headset (super freaking cool). I'm a bit discouraged that we'll find land that meets all of our core requirements, but we looped in a realtor to help us out.

Personally, I've felt a bit unmoored recently. Nothing in life seems stable -- nearly everything is moving/changing/uncertain and it's starting to wear on me. Being back in Kansas City for June was tough. I have so much love for my hometown, but it just doesn't feel like "home" anymore --  yet it feels like an inevitability I can't escape. The one thing I do know is that I have 18 months left in Scotland, so I better make the best of life as an expat.

But on July 1st, one call made that feeling of instability both immediately worse and somewhat solved. 

If you didn't see my dad's most recent CaringBridge post, he dives into side effects he's dealing with (lethargy, anemia, dizziness, weight loss, etc.) that aren't directly attributable to the cancer, but also wouldn't be happening without it. The days that followed had me reevaluating my decision to be over here. Choosing not to move back when he was first diagnosed was a difficult yet intentional call. I'd worked hard to get over here and knew it was a rare and time-sensitive opportunity, and as a family we agreed that if I had to sit and wait in worry I may as well do that in Scotland. I was at peace with the worst-case outcome, knowing I'd recently spent seven months living with him and had the means to fly back on a moment's notice. 

As we've entered the drawn-out maintenance phase, that calculus is changing. The reality is the cancer isn't going anywhere, and likely neither are the side effects. He'll have good days/weeks/months, but also bad ones. The question I found myself facing was, am I comfortable waiting a year a half to be able to sit with him through the rough patches? I texted my mom and sister with my thoughts and tagged on a request: since I'm too far away to effectively gauge the situation, please let me know if/when it gets to a point where you think I'd regret not being around.

My mom asked for a video call.

And she encouraged me to move back sooner rather than later.

My heart dropped and the tears poured, but it made sense. The clear message was that my dad's not getting any healthier, and given his uncertain future it's best -- for him and for me -- to be nearby. The unspoken secondary message I took away was that my mom needs my support; she's been an absolute champion through this past year and it's starting to take its toll, so having me around would not only give her capacity to breathe but would provide her emotional support on the days she can't hold it together. The bottom line: as much as my soul thinks it needs Scotland, my family needs me more.

Answering "Hey Danielle, how's life?" again, just one week later, necessitates a completely different response:

Professionally, I'm still in a transition period, I still feel a need to put a hold on pursuing a career in psychology, and I still think I'm nearing the end of my VA tenure. However, I'll no longer be applying for UK jobs and no longer have an excuse to defer career decisions to 2026. Piecing together jobs has worked in the UK thanks to a lower cost of living, but the model won't work as well in the States -- I'll need healthcare; I'll need a car and car insurance; I'll need to pay 10% sales taxes and a 20% tip for all services; I'll need to pay a premium on healthy foods that don't make me ill. Since the income that allowed me to live comfortably in Scotland is below the US poverty line, it's a very real possibility that I'll need to rejoin the workforce I left three years ago. And that's a tough pill to swallow.

Socially, I no longer need to expand my UK social circle and I can toss those post-it to-dos. I'm fortunate to have a huge support network in Kansas City. However, I'm not the same person I was when I left in 2017. Seven very formative years have passed, and I neither want nor am able to step back into my old life. Just as I'd planned to in Edinburgh, I'll need to be intentional at expanding my social circle to meet new people with similar interests and worldviews. I'm also really excited to get back to visiting friends in other states, which I haven't had the bandwidth to do on most of my trips back.

Familially, I'll have a much closer vantage point, especially given that I'll spend the first month (or a few) living with my parents in their new home. I'll be there for my sister in the month leading up to the wedding + the inevitable post-wedding blues, and I'll be around as they start family planning. I'll be able to hang out with my dad every day watching movies, doing puzzles, playing games, making up songs, seeing who can clap louder -- you know, normal stuff. I'll get to alleviate some of what my mom has been dealing with solo and free up time for her to get back to working on personal projects. It should be the start of a good chapter on the family front.

Romantically, we'll be transitioning from a long-distance relationship to IRL partnering. It will undoubtedly be an adjustment for us both as we learn to adapt and compromise, but I have no doubt that we'll manage it well. I'm excited to play a more consistent role in his son's life and watch him grow. I'm less excited about the inevitable conflicts that come with shared-custody. Our home-building plans have been put on ice for now. Since neither of us are excited to stay where he is now, we'll look for a place to call ours this winter and reevaluate our long term plans once things have settled down. Another exciting chapter to kick off.

Personally, I still feel wildly unmoored with this upheaval; however, this move will significantly stabilize my life. Not in a lot of the ways I would have hoped -- I've said for years that I had no interest in moving back to KC. But I'm finding solace where I can, and being there for my family and with my partner are worthy reasons to go back on my word. Since my time left in Scotland has diminished to 12 weeks, I plan to make the best of it. My final months will include trips to Belfast, Venice, and Skye, a hike of the UK's highest peak Ben Nevis, being active at the Fringe Festival, and showing off Edinburgh to some of my favorite people.

This isn't just the closing of a chapter -- it feels more like the end of Book 2 in a novel series. I'm devastated to see it cut off so abruptly, especially knowing some characters won't make it into the next book. I'm worried the author might lose focus and the next book will be relatively forgettable or too similar to Book 1. 

But that's all outside my control for now. What I can do is make sure Book 2 ends on a strong note, reserve a place for it on the shelf to cherish fondly, and honor the lore and plot trajectories that made it so beautiful as I move forward. I will miss it. I will mourn it. But I will be okay.

Kansas City, get ready for October to be one Danielle fuller.