Aceitação

A month and a half ago, at 12:40 AM, I got an email that I was hoping for but was nevertheless surprised to receive. The first word in the subject line: aceitação. Acceptance.

It was 12:40 AM and I was very much awake. My husband was away on a 2-week business trip, and each evening I found myself desperately clinging to the uninterrupted stretches of time to myself. The time when all three of my children were deep asleep and, therefore, needed absolutely nothing from me. I stayed awake hours into the night journaling, messaging friends, or simply staring off into space and relishing in the blissful joy of an empty mind.

This particular evening, I was going back and forth on Marco Polo with a friend living in China. We were talking about Portugal, about dreams, when a notification appeared on my phone.

Aceitação.

What followed was a flurry of sleep deprived hope. Skimming the email. Reading it in its entirety. Rereading it, slowing down to double check comprehension in my second language. Running the entire message through a translator for good measure. Each time yielded the same result.

Aceitação.

Acceptance.

Me. To a PhD program at the University of Coimbra. A university that has been in operation since the 13th century. One that I had visited just last year. In a country that has been calling me for years: Portugal.

I messaged my friend, stumbling through the news, hesitant to believe it was real. She responded with immediate, enthusiastic celebration. What a gift, during a lonely and overextended two weeks, to have someone celebrating with me in real time. The 12-hour time difference played in my favor during a moment when I was otherwise alone.

I had applied to the third and final round of applications to the program. The application deadline was on a Friday. I received the acceptance email shortly after the following Tuesday had given way to Wednesday. And in the email, I learned that classes began on Friday. In two days. I would be video calling into class until visa and travel arrangements allowed for me to attend in person. Classes start at 10 AM in Portugal.

3 AM here.

So two days later I set an alarm for 2:30 AM and prepped for my first day of class, taken from the depths of my laundry room in the desperate hope that I wouldn’t wake up my kids while my husband was still out of town.

During my class break, I made my kids breakfast before setting them up with a movie. It wasn’t ideal, but we all made it through in one piece. Considering the short notice of the circumstances, I’d say I pulled it off pretty damn well.

When a door opens, I’m taking it.

Now my husband and I are in the whirlwind of preparation. Sorting out visa applications, selling off belongings, managing finances, prepping the house for renters, prepping the kids for the big move.

It's a lot.

There are many days where I wonder if we’ll actually be able to pull it off. Where I’m tempted to slip into apathy.

Such a nice dream, isn’t it? It’s a shame that these aren’t experiences for people in my life circumstances. It would have been fun if the stars had aligned. I’ll accept my fate in this place, where nothing will let me down because it already is what it is.

But we’re already here. I’m already in the program. I’m attending weekly classes. I’m doing the homework. We’re already doing it. This is already real. Why should I let go now?

This program is mine, but the upcoming experience belongs to my whole family. It will be a remarkable gift to each of us.

My Portuguese skills will expand significantly, as the entire program is delivered in Portuguese. My husband and kids will all get to learn Portuguese as well, living immersed in it every day. We will all gain from the day to day experience of living life in a brand new culture. To come face to face with the reality that our way of speaking, of doing, of living is just one iteration among infinite variants of this miraculous human experience.

Will it be hard? Of course.

Will it be beautiful? 100%.

Portugal, here we come.