The unglamorous truth about living abroad

Somedays, living abroad looks a lot like this:

or on really special days even...like this:

But, quite honestly, most days it just looks like this:

Yep, those are my dirty clothes.  And my bills.  And that is only a fraction of the pile of each.  Not to mention the work to be done, the dishes to be washed, the beds to be made, the tax returns to be completed.  The list goes on and on.  

I am not complaining.  In fact, there's a certain beauty in it. The fact that it's mundane is how you know you really live abroad.  

It's not the non-stop touring of a Eurotrip, it's not the non-stop partying of study abroad. It's real life.  

Most of the time it is really boring, totally unglamorous and completely normal.  

And then there's a moment: it's night, the snow is softly falling on the market place, it's completely silent except for the bells of the church, your feet slip across the cobblestones.  It's only a second--a millisecond even--but you feel it. Squeezing your chest you feel it.  You live here.  You live here.  And, my, do you feel lucky!