I look back at the noughties with mixed feelings. It’s been the toughest decade ever and yet my most rewarding. We gave up the sunny comfort of South Africa and chose to migrate to the Netherlands.

Emmen was our first port of call. Where Marcel started life and still has some family. More to the point, it was chosen ‘cos of the work. For Marcel. And for me? Glad you asked. I couldn’t speak Dutch and being in the North East, there aren’t many English speaking jobs available. So I stayed at home.

Well, I did try my hand at being a “stoffeerder’s hulpje” [assistant to a flooring installer] in the project industry. Sweeping, scraping freshly-dried concrete floors, coaxing cramped fingers to work, and cleaning up kilometres of linoleum in hospitals, offices and old age homes. After three months, I succumbed. I was beaten.

Instead I threw myself into language, computers and admin. But my confidence and sense of self worth ebbed away slowly … word by foreign word. It’s not easy starting from scratch in an alien world. But ever the optimist “this IS fun”, my survival instinct pushed me further. A couple of years later, we moved to Zwolle. With central heating and being closer to the West, it helped somewhat. But life was on the back burner.

All we did was work and sleep. Work and sleep. For what seemed an eternity.

Back in SA, I loved socializing. I loved taking part. I loved taking risks, doing daring things. Hell, I even jumped out of a perfectly good plane with an expert chutist strapped to my back.

Here it was different. Surprised at how comfortable I’d become keeping my own company, I lost interest in going out and seeing other people.

So was the immigration a mid-life crisis? Nope. It was the vessel.

As a whale who’d outstayed its frolicking in shallow summer waters, I was yanked off into the depths. My warm fuzzy life was replaced with solitude and despair.

I tackled the denizons of raw emotion and came face to face with monsters once forgotten. Looking through wider eyes, over time I acquired impartial associations, detaching emotions from events. Swimming from the Caribbean to Antarctic and rounding Cape Horn, this was long distance into oneself.

Poking and prodding, I built foundations under my abilities and fears, joys and weaknesses, what I want and what leaves me cold. My t-shirt says, “I’ve been to me!’

Then we found our little nest. After years of searching. For the right house, the right environment, the right kind of neighbours. We live close enough to Amsterdam, where like in SA, the people are a cultural melting pot. Because most are married into different cultures, “Lelystedelingen” are more open to foreigners.

Op top of that, Lelystad is young, so everyone is a stranger. People dare to smile at each other and say, “hi”. Along with good neighbours, we’ve also made some good friends. This has made all the difference. And, it should be said, my Dutch has improved … I can understand and be understood. Heaven!

From my personal journey, learning the Dutch way and calling upon my South African heritage, I can see the impact it’s had on my life. On who I am. I’ve become broader, a better person, but still very much me.

To celebrate my return of the “joyful creature”, I’m (re)discovering the frivolity in life. Dipping my toe into familiar shallow waters. This time, however, I know my way back to the depths. Life is about keeping the balance.

My midlife crisis is dead. Long live the crisis. Hoorah. Hoorah. Hoorah.

Most people start doing outrageous things in their midlife crisis, I stopped doing them. When friends asked if I’d like to take their daughters to a fairground, I jumped at the chance. I was curious. What could these ol’ bones take?

Walibi World was awesome. A hot August day, we arrived when the gates opened and left when they closed. To say it in South African, “We had a jol!” I admit … I had to sit out the last two rides. My tummy got a tad too woozy. But I’ll definitely return. As often as I can.