Something that ex-pats often talk about is how different friendships are when people come and go so frequently. Most, but not all, of the folks we have met through the school are like us in that they are here on a 2- or 3-year work assignment, and then moving back home or on to the next rotation. When you need to make friends, but also understand that your time with them (in the same place, at least) is temporary, you make some adjustments.

First, I‘ve noticed that ex-pats tend to have a wonderfully open mind when it come to friendships. It‘s more normal to be friends with people who see the world differently from you, to overlook things that might normally bug you, and to avoid gossip. There‘s simply no time to waste on the small stuff, which is really refreshing. Ex-pats are also quick to invite newcomers along – perhaps because they have experience being the ‚new person‘, they know what it’s like when someone extends a helping hand, and they wish to pay that feeling forward. And finally, there‘s just a great network of people who are eager to share recommendations for anything and everything, from doctors to weekend trips to massage therapists to hiking trails.

All of this is so wonderful to experience, and I have such a deep sense of gratitude for the friends we have made here – especially given how messed up the last year and a half has been. Which makes the transitions of these friendships – when friends move on to their next adventures, but we stay behind – a unique experience as well.

How to say goodbye to people you have known such a short while, but to whom you feel so much gratitude towards? People who are packing up all their stuff, again, uprooting their whole family, again, and starting back over in a new city and maybe even a new country? Clearly a physical going-away gift, something additional to be packed up and managed, isn’t in order.

So I‘ve had to find my own to way to honor these friendships. As my friends pack up their houses, watching all their worldly belongings get loaded into a sea container, I bring over some coffee, scones, and doughnuts from our favorite bakery. We sit together for a few hours in their quickly emptying house (if there are still chairs), ourselves relaxed, but surrounded by chaos. We recount stories and people and places, mostly laughing, occasionally tearing up a bit. We talk about all the fun times, the horrible times, the hopes and fears that have come true or not or are still uncertain. We consider our kids and go back and forth about whether or not they will be ok (they will). We wonder what the world has in store for us next – the things to look forward to, the things we’ll miss, the things still to discover. We wonder when we‘ll see each other next, and promise that we will.

And then my final gift is always to take all the stuff from their fridge and pantry – the capers they never used, the last bit of flour, the cactus leaves they thought they might make one day, the expired cake mix, the jam they got on a trip somewhere, the spices that don’t seem worth taking, as they know they‘ll just buy new at the next house. It‘s not much of a gift, I know, and I‘m getting some fun stuff out of the deal, too (like the time I got four bottles of liquor!). But I can’t think of anything better than letting someone else take care of stuff you would otherwise have to throw away. And I know when I use these things that I probably would never buy myself, I‘ll be thinking of these friends and wishing them happy trails and all good as they start their next chapters.