One Year Ago Today
One year ago today, I stepped on a plane, heading east.
Before reaching Scotland, we took a detour for me to show Elijah the place I’ve always considered home, the Netherlands.
Even though I’ve visited a couple of times since I moved away at 14, it was not until a year ago today that I made good on a vow I had made to myself, that I would move back to live on this side of the Atlantic again.
Now, at 14, I didn’t understand how hard it was to move overseas when you are the adult coordinating all the details…
I didn’t understand how heavy compounded grief of several childhood and adult moves would be when making this one…
I had absolutely no idea the ride that was ahead of me in life, the chapters I would have never written — and could have never written — that would have brought me to step on that plane, heading east.
At 14 I was heartbroken, leaving a place where my soul had come alive—a place where I had come alive. A place that felt like home deep in my bones, in a way I couldn’t (and still can’t) quite put into words.
That was the place where I would walk in the fields, yielding into the simplicity of the low lands around me, feeling the agency of pushing one foot into the ground after another, reaching for the branches of my favorite tree, holding those moments tenderly within, letting them become part of me.
And a year ago today, there was something about going there before coming here that I needed to do for 14 year old me, and every other me that has lived in between.
If you know my story, you know there have been more than one plot line I didn’t choose, more than chapter and season where I’ve felt I’ve lost years of my life, more than one instance where I simply didn’t have a choice in what was happening.
And in so many ways, I know that’s life. Those seasons taught me just how much we don’t know what’s coming next, and in many ways, that was been a beautiful and freeing thing to learn in my twenties. And also, it’s a painful thing when your sense of choice is taken away, and you feel helplessly stuck in circumstances you wouldn’t wish on anyone else.
One year ago today, I got to enjoy the sweet bliss of a day when I made the choice to step on a plane—I had the choice to step on that plane—feeling the full weight of all the both-ands that move included.
I both walked hand in hand with a supportive partner, and also knew he would deeply grieve moving away from his family for a time. I was both bursting with joy to go live in a fairytale town alongside the sea, and couldn’t stop crying about how much I missed the mountains in Tennessee… like, for months… I was both entirely confident that this move made sense and was an incredible gift, and also, was terrified that it would somehow all fall apart.
And if there’s anything this last year has taught me, it’s that the both-ands of life will keep on coming, and it’s the both-ands of life that cultivate depth and beauty.
Really, I had no idea what I was in for when I stepped on that plane a year ago, and most of me today honestly can’t believe today marks a year from our departure. This anniversary actually snuck up on me until a friend mentioned that yesterday was the anniversary of our goodbye, the day before I left.
Today I was simply writing in my back garden with a cup of tea next to my purple tree.
Today I walked around the peaceful grounds of a nearby castle with family who are visiting, like it was any regular old day.
At this very moment, I’m laying in my hammock, watching the sun wind and leaves creates dancing shadows against stone walls and grass.
A year ago today, I couldn’t have known how sweet it would feel to be settled here, nor would I have wanted to know the heavy both-ands that would bring me here…
Thank you to each of you who have walked alongside me here in this transitionary year — transitions in location, vocation, writing, and all the things. I’m honored you enjoy this space and look forward to what my reflections might be a year ahead from today :)
Ok… the mountains in Scotland have maybe won my heart over… :)
Corrie Fee Nature Preserve August 2025