Life has a quiet habit: it steps in when we are least prepared.

Last weekend, just as we were getting used to the ocean-scented winds of Lisbon and trying to settle into the routines of our new home, that phone call came and everything stopped. Plans, to-do lists, flight routes… all of it instantly faded into background noise. My son had fallen. His foot was broken.

Within a few hours, I found myself far away from Lisbon’s yellow trams, standing by my son’s side under the white hospital lights of an Istanbul room.

Control Is Only an Illusion

We expats love control. We meticulously plan visa processes, relocation logistics, and new school applications so uncertainty won’t scare us. But this accident reminded me of something once again: control was never the real issue. The real issue was being there.

Right now, my life is split across three different geographies:

Lisbon: The new life we are still learning to call “home,” which I share with my partner and our four-legged children, Alex and Judy.

Munich: The center of my son’s dreams, his academic future, and his university plans.

Istanbul: Where we are now. The city of our roots, but one that has slowly become just a “pause point.”

A Victory in the Waiting Room: DSD II

In the hospital, somewhere between X-ray results and painkillers, where time seemed to slow down life offered us a small miracle. My son received the results of the DSD II (German Language Diploma), the one that opens a major academic door.

His foot is in a cast, his movement restricted, but his mind is already in Munich’s lecture halls, ready for the winds of the Alps. He had been so cautious that he had applied for another exam “just in case.” But now, there’s no need to take it. Sometimes life hands you two keys; once you open the door with the first, the other simply becomes a keepsake.

Redefining Slow Living

We often talk about “slow living.” Usually, it’s a choice,a desire to pause, to simplify. But sometimes life teaches slowness by force. When movement stops, plans are put on hold, and distances feel longer than usual, you realize this: slow living isn’t an aesthetic, it’s an act of acceptance.

My son will heal. Bones mend; children are resilient. Lisbon,  Alex and Judy, are waiting for us. Munich is getting ready to become our new home.

But this pause has left us with something invaluable: life doesn’t wait for perfect timing. It happens while we’re making plans. And sometimes, the only plan worth keeping is simply being there.