Change

 Change is an interesting paradox and undeniably inevitable—simultaneously enticing, intimidating, and welcoming, especially when it’s something you’ve long anticipated. Throughout my life, I’ve moved frequently, navigating both professional and personal transitions in ways I never imagined, often surprising myself with my own resilience.

Moving to the United States was one of those defining shifts. As introverts, my husband and I have always cherished a small but deeply supportive circle of friends. When we settled in Edison, New Jersey, we truly believed it would be our forever home—a place that offered the stability and familiarity every middle-aged couple hopes to find. Life there wasn’t perfect, but over the course of 13 years, it became our comfort zone—a rhythm that felt familiar, dependable, and deeply ours.

Then, everything changed.

My husband, Aswin, received a remarkable career opportunity in Mississippi—a milestone that we had every reason to celebrate. Yet, while it marked an exciting new chapter for him, it also felt like an unexpected pause in my own professional journey. We’ve only been here for two weeks, so perhaps it’s too early to call it a setback, but for now, that is how it feels.

The move has also brought its share of poignant challenges. We left behind cherished friends, the warmth of a vibrant Indian community, and, most difficult of all, my son's beloved speech therapist. As the parent of a child on the autism spectrum, I know how meaningful trusted relationships and familiar routines are. Walking away from that support system has been one of the hardest parts of this transition.

I must admit, a part of me feels torn. When change is a choice, it feels like an adventure; when it is shaped by circumstance, it is far more difficult to embrace. Nostalgia and gratitude now coexist within me—gratitude for the opportunities before us, and a longing for the life we left behind.

This is unfamiliar territory for me. I've always embraced change with enthusiasm, seeing it as an opportunity for growth and new beginnings. This time, however, it feels bittersweet. Perhaps it comes with age. As we grow older, we begin to seek familiarity in the little things—a neighborhood we know by heart, familiar faces, routines that ground us, and the quiet comfort of belonging. Leaving those behind is harder than I ever expected.

Still, I believe that perspective has the power to shape our journey. Beneath the uncertainty, there remains a quiet but steady sense of hope. I look forward to discovering new experiences, building new connections, and slowly creating a sense of belonging once again. Home, after all, is not just a place—it is something we build with time, love, and resilience. And I trust that, in time, we will make this place—or any place life takes us—our own.