Managing Expectations

It's always fascinating to see someone's initial reaction to our Tijuana assignment. That first look that crosses their face never lies. Reactions may range from outright laughter to shock and horror. Occasionally we get the raised eyebrow, but more often than not, people have a pretty determined opinion about Tijuana. But more importantly, they have a pretty determined opinion about how we should feel, or expect to feel, about Tijuana. As for us, we're trying to manage our expectations.

We joined the foreign service dreaming of exotic destinations far from the U.S. "Worldwide availability" held infinite possibilities for two people who had never really been anywhere. We had moved a lot inside the U.S., but we wanted to see what the world was like beyond our country's borders. Where did we get posted? Tijuana--a suburb of San Diego, CA. Technically it's still more exotic than Monroe, GA, Marshville, NC, or Murphysboro, IL, but geez, did the State Department really have to get us on a technicality?

For the past 8 months, we have grown increasingly more excited about our Tijuana adventure. We have researched and emailed and read blogs and made as many contacts as possible at our future home, in the hopes of making our arrival more pleasant. The only problem is that every time we get too optimistic, we get told to manage our expectations. If I manage my expectations any more, I will never cross the border.

I mentioned that we've moved a lot. Let me elaborate. I moved to Georgia from North Carolina when I was fresh out of college to write for a newspaper. I had no family or friends in the middle of rural Georgia, and Chris was 90 miles away in Atlanta finishing up his degree at Georgia Tech. I survived.

After we were married, we moved to Illinois for Chris to go to law school. Again, I had no friends or family there and an infant, and Chris's family was 90 miles away. We survived.

Then we moved to Springfield, IL for Chris to practice law. This time we had an infant, a three year old, no friends, and Chris's family was still 90 miles away. We survived.

Then Chris lost his job, and the boys and I moved back to North Carolina to stay with my family while Chris essentially lived out of his car while looking for work. It was a tough six weeks, but we survived.

Chris got a great job in Monroe, GA working as a public defender, and we moved there with no family but a few friends about an hour away. We survived.

Finally, Chris joined the foreign service and we moved to Falls Church when I was 34 weeks pregnant, hoping that our insurance would take effect before our newest little one made his debut. Again, we survived.

Not only did we survive in each of these challenging situations, but we made wonderful friends and fantastic memories. Each move I made with hope for the future, because without hope, the present would be unbearable. That doesn't mean that I was naively thinking that all would be perfect. That just means that I was optimistic that things would get better. I know what it's like to feel isolated and alone. I know what it's like to need a friend and to need encouragement. Thankfully with each new destination, I carried with me memories of old friends and the courage to make new ones. Plus, I have an awesome support system that's just a phone call away.

So I'm heading to Tijuana with hopes of going to the beach, finding the zonkey, seeing a bullfight, meeting new friends, practicing Spanish, and eating a lot of Mexican food.

So unless there are going to be rotten-vegetable-throwing-peasants accosting us as we cross the border, I don't want to hear any more tales of gloom and doom. If there are such horrible creatures at the border, then by all means tell me-- so I can duck.

To paraphrase Krusty the Klown, "Who's ready for two years of fun in the happiest place on earth? TIJUANA!" We are.