Here

It was the sunniest day in six months or more. An early gift on this island in the North Sea, usually blotted out by mizzle and various shades of gloom. But today, blue skies and a gleaming sun prevailed and previewed a glimpse of hopeful days ahead. I raced outside to lie in it like a hound dog. 

I closed my eyes and drifted in and out of consciousness. Seagulls screeched overhead, their cries poking holes in the sturdiness of where I was—it’s easy to forget this is an island. The sound nudged at something deep inside me—a Floridian echo of the sandy beaches and endless horizons of home. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen the Gulf, but with my eyes closed the breeze and birds carried me close enough to imagine it. 

I fell asleep and woke up at lunch time. (My appetite maintains a fastidious schedule.) Since it was the perfect kind of day for an easy sandwich, I grabbed a hunk of crusty bread, tore it apart and smeared the two halves with some on-hand butter, then stuffed  it full of ham and a handful of cornichons from the fridge. It wasn’t quite the Frenchy-French jambon beurre you’d snag from a Parisian cafe, but it, too, was close enough. 

Life as an expat can be a messy trade off. While there is always something new to love, there is always something to miss. And Florida sunshine for English drizzle, and palm trees for hedgerows, doesn’t always seem like a even swap. Life on this island can feel like a trap at times, the way the weather pins you indoors; I rarely visit the ocean despite its nearness.

But today I got close enough to something grand. A sunny patio, a knock off sandwich and a gull’s cry stitching me to the memories of places I love. It wasn’t the Gulf coast or a Parisian cafe but it was enough to make a for nice day and a solid reminder that we don’t need to drag our feet through something mediocre while we wait for something perfect. If we’re creative enough to see it and bold enough to seize it, near-perfect is exactly right here.