Slowly but surely our apartment is being emptied out. Though the posters and pictures are still up, the walls are looking a bit bare. There are empty corners where bookcases used to be, empty shelves where books and clothes used to be. There’s still so much more to pack up or get rid of, but it has become impossible to overlook the fact that there are things missing from my house.

Seeing the bare walls reminds of when we first moved in here. It was almost exactly four years ago that we stood in this empty, freshly painted, seemingly gigantic apartment and jumped for joy at the idea that it was ours. We couldn’t believe that so much space belonged to us. And now I can’t believe that all of that was so long ago. It’s a terrible cliché, I know, but I can’t help thinking that it seems like just yesterday. I can remember the way the sunlight streamed in the windows on the day the keys were handed over to us. I stood in the living room, and though I was thrilled that we had our own place, my mind was racing with worries at the same time. Would we be able to find jobs to pay for everything? Would I do well at the university? Would I be able to really improve my German? Would everything turn out okay?

I remember sleeping in sleeping bags on cushions on the living room floor before we got our bed. I would stay up late, reading by the light of a little red desk lamp that I put on the floor next to me. For some reason, I can even remember what book I was reading at the time: How the Irish Saved Civilization (I didn’t really enjoy it so much, which is why I’m surprised that I remember reading it). I remember that it was chilly in the apartment before we figured out how to light the gas heater in the bathroom to get heating and hot water, and that I was thankful for the warmth of my very warm sleeping bag.

And then of course we got a bed, and a sofa, and the famous kitchen table, and everything came together, and everything did indeed turn out okay. Jeremy and I both wound up finding jobs that we really like and that we’re good at (if I may say so myself), I did do well at the university, and my German has improved.

And in addition to those things that I was hoping for four years ago, I’ve experienced and accomplished some things that I didn’t necessarily anticipate back then. I’ve started writing again. I’ve learned how to play the bass and I played in a band - I stood on stages and played concerts in front of audiences. I’ve learned how to play the guitar and discovered that I can kind of sing. I’ve made friends who I hope will be friends for life. Hey, I’ve gotten married. I’ve figured out how to live life through a foreign language in a foreign country. And I’ve made the rather major decision move to yet another foreign country, to figure out how to live life there.

I haven’t made a million dollars and I haven’t become famous or anything, but I feel happy with how my life is. Very happy, in fact. I don’t want for anything, and I often wonder just who it is I have to thank for having been given such a good life (besides my parents, of course). I guess my kind of life wouldn’t be for everyone, but it fits quite well to me, I think. And that’s good.

And I guess when I ask myself why the past four years have gone by so quickly, the answer may be as simple as this: time flies when you’re having fun. I hope that’s the answer anyway.