The Story

“Sometimes the slightest things change the direction of our lives, the merest breath of a circumstance, a random moment that connects like a meteorite striking the earth…”

I fell in love twice when I moved to Ireland. The first time was with the city of Dublin. I have never felt more at home anywhere in the world than I felt in Dublin. I had a fantastic job, everyone was very friendly (even after the found out I was American) and there was always something to see and do. I moved on a whim. I was in a horrible job in the states, all of my friends were living in a different city. I felt as if I was going nowhere. This was in November.

I’d graduated from grad school in May, and fell across a program in which I could obtain a working visa for Ireland based on my recent “student” status. The first thought was “I guess I could go ahead and get the visa just in case I decide to go, since the window of opportunity is closing”. Within the next two weeks I’d booked my flight, made reservations at a hostel, and had completed my CV (Resume). My flight was in a month, and during that month countless questions ran through my head: would I be able to find a job? what happens if no one hires me? should I really go? how lonely would I get without people I know? is this really a good idea?

I’ve always been a very shy person, not very spontaneous, and this was not like me at all. I was lucky in that everyone around me supported my decision to leave. My mother would miss me, obviously, but she was thrilled at the prospect of coming to visit. My sister seemed more excited than I was and constantly harped on the idea that I would have a storybook romance wherein I meet a beautiful foreign boy who sweeps me off my feet the moment I arrived.

Up to the day of departure I was questioning my decision to go. As I walked through security at the airport I looked back at my mother and sister, and with tears in my eyes I vowed to go and live my life. It was the best decision I ever made.

I’d been to Ireland once before, and upon arrival the second time I felt as if I’d never left.

The first week I was there was a whirlwind of activity. I had to find a job, a place to live, and attempt to make friends. I was staying at a hostel for the time being, Ashfield House, and there was a very large group of French people there. I spoke with a few of them and enquired as to what they were doing there, you know, the obligatory “Where are you from? How long will you be here? How long have you been here?” conversation that one hostel guest has with another, and I found out that many of these Frenchman were there together. They were there looking for jobs and trying to improve their English.

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