Moving Back to Kyiv. Again.

I know they say be careful what you wish for, but it wasn’t like I wished to be back here. I just made a joke, that’s all. 

It wasn’t even a particularly good one.

About a year ago, a friend of mine, a Director of Studies at a language center in Kyiv, was at a TESOL conference in Liverpool. “Anyone looking for teaching or management positions in Ukraine, please stop by our booth!” she posted on Twitter. 

Can I Skype stop-by? I wrote back.

See? Not even remotely funny.

But the fact that nineteen and a half months after leaving Ukraine (for good!) in bitter disappointment, I was joyfully bounding through the Minsk airport for the sixth time on my way back (for good!) kind of was. Make no mistake. I was, out of everyone, the most surprised. 

When I left Kyiv at the end of 2017, it seemed like the end of a long run. Oh, I’d come back to see friends, I was sure, but my feelings toward the city had taken a sour turn. Most things made me irritated or angry, and I was weighed down by depression that wasn’t helped by the short gray days. I have, for years, resisted comparing how I felt about Kyiv to a relationship. But to be frank — it was that point where you know you have to leave if you ever want to be able to salvage what you had. 

So that’s what I did. I packed up my life, said goodbye to my friends and favorite bartenders, and got on a plane back to the US while nursing a miserable hangover of cocktails and feelings. There was the usual whirlwind of running around during the holidays back home, and then three weeks later I flew back over Europe to land in Tbilisi with no job, no friends, and no expectations. It was one of the truest ‘new beginnings’ I’ve ever had. Which would, ironically, also be the first step towards me moving back to Kyiv nineteen months later. 

While I was living in Tbilisi, I got an Instagram message from a photojournalist. We had mutual friends in Kyiv, and he was in Georgia for a project. We became friends, though really I can only think of him as the award-winning photographer who managed to get the worst picture of me I’ve ever seen. Pete, I hope you deleted that like I requested. He left after a few weeks, but another invisible line attached me back to Kyiv. 

Oblivious, I went on to Russia. 

When I moved to Moscow, I thought it was going to be Russia or bust. I was sick of moving my life around, starting over again from scratch both professionally and personally every year. But it became clear to me, almost immediately, that I was not going to stay in Russia. Not because I didn’t like living there, but because it wasn’t going to meet my professional goals. Teaching very young learners in a school setting was not for me, and the opportunities in language centers were scarce and underpaid. I toyed with the idea of going home. But things changed — or maybe I just admitted that things hadn’t changed at all, and that I wasn’t ready to give up the expat life. 

Well, where did I want to live? The expat fatigue was still real, and no place had caught my attention. The only thing I did know was that I wanted something different professionally — either a position in a specialized institution or a step into management. So when my friend posted that her company was looking for management staff, a quiet little well why not? got me thinking. The only ‘place’ I wanted to move now was up in my career, so why not do in back in Ukraine?

Re-enter Pete. As a photojournalist, he went back to Kyiv to cover their presidential elections (oh, guess who also recently elected a pop culture star as their commander in chief?). What little he posted on Instagram only made the small voice grow louder. I grew impatient for his updates. Achy from nostalgia. And I began to imagine what it might be like to move back.

I sent in my CV. 

Because there’s no way around this — Kyiv is a cool city. It’s never boring, it has a dynamite restaurant and bar scene, it has unique charms in the summer and winter, and it’s affordable in a way that I can actually enjoy life on a teacher’s salary (I’m looking at you, New York). It’s an easy place to live. But still I hesitated, because even with rose-colored glasses the tough times were stark.

So I did the only thing I know to do. I booked a flight. A year ago I spent my May holidays back in Kyiv, visiting old friends who were planning on leaving Ukraine that year. An ‘easy’ trip from Moscow, despite the necessary layover in Minsk. A testing of the waters. And when I ran into a former student at the outdoor food court by the river bank, the words, “I’m thinking of moving back” slipped out before I could catch them.

Still, there was no revelation about what to do. Throughout the entire interview process, I had to negotiate with this wiggle of doubt. I knew how I had left Kyiv – depressed, broken, and really annoyed. I knew I had changed a lot, but I also knew that Kyiv hadn’t. There are just some things in the DNA of a place (or its expat community) that aren’t going to transform in nineteen and a half months. And while this move would put me exactly where I wanted to be in my career, was it worth the risk? 

I mean, I took the job of course. I had to. I had applied to exactly three other places, most of which are now combat zones, and I only ever heard back from one months after I had already accepted the offer in Kyiv. But there was never really a question about if I was going to accept the job in Kyiv. 

Because the job was exactly what I wanted. Yes, there was some heartstring-pulling and some nostalgia-living, but I chased this opportunity down because it was my next step. I would not have moved back to Ukraine for any other opportunity. I loved Kyiv, but it had also made me bitter. I loved Kyiv, but so much of the time it felt like I was on the outskirts of a party I wasn’t really wanted at. I loved Kyiv, but I was extra there (and excruciatingly aware of it). As an expat, I was uninteresting because I was a woman. As a woman, I was uninteresting because I was an expat. And there were too few expat women to commiserate with. They were all fleeing, just as I had.  

I took the job with grim determination, someone who was ready to ‘tough it out’ to ‘pay her dues’ to finally ‘get ahead.’ You name the cliche, I was already abiding by it. I had professional goals, and I was ready to sacrifice my personal life to get them. Get me to a nunnery, I was going back to Kyiv. 

So it was a bit of a surprise when I discovered I was thrilled to be back. Thriiiiiilled. Despite all my guardedness, it made sense, being back in Kyiv. This time, I knew who I was and I knew why I was there. And I liked it. I liked my apartment (overly purple, but with a great view), I liked my new job (working with professional people, taking on new challenges), I liked the boy I started dating (how that even happened I still don’t know).

I liked it all so much, I became a little paranoid. I was constantly assessing my situation — Do I still like it here? Am I feeling burnt out? How can I keep the positive momentum? Will I still like it next year? And the year after that?

What a thing to deal with — enjoying your life. 

Not to say there aren’t downsides. There are long hours at work. My boyfriend and I got pickpocketed and our bank accounts hacked. The weather really was miserable for most of the winter. I’m resistant to teaching online in the quarantine world — but I’m grateful to have a job at all. The good and the bad, they come no matter where you live or what you’re doing. This time around, Kyiv, you’re not scaring me off so easily. 

Because the thing is, I’m doing the thing that my friends and family have occasionally questioned me about — I’m settling down. I gambled on there being career potential in Kyiv, of being here for a few years (and hallelujah it’s a bet that’s coming back to me in a big way). It’s a big transition, to go from nomadic life to long-term settlement. Maybe it’s because when you change your job as often as I have, these questions come up. Not just from other people (where are you living now? why are you working with kids/adults/teens?) but from myself too (where is all of this going? is this even what you want?). I always kind of wonder if the moves I’m making are the right ones — even when I know they are the right ones. This move back to Kyiv, I spent months wondering.

Until, one day, I didn’t.

And yes, quarantine has made me appreciate my life here immeasurably, but it was before that. At some point I realized, it wasn’t just the job I had snagged or the stand-up company I work for or the boyfriend who takes extraordinary care of me that has made me so comfortable in Kyiv. Something about me has changed — or maybe, come back. There was a part of me that got forgotten for a few years that I’ve only recently picked back up. And who do I thank? Do I thank time, for forcing unrelenting progress? Do I thank my friends, whose touch, even without meaning to, forced a cataclysm? Do I thank myself, for seizing opportunities when I wanted them and at least making choices when I struggled to muster enthusiasm? Because there’s hitting your stride and then there’s feeling like you could run your world. I don’t know how I got back there at all, considering nineteen and a half months before I was barely dragging myself down the sidewalk. 

So welcome back, Kyiv. I know you’re not the one who came back. But damn if I don’t feel like the hostess of the party now.