I miss my pots and pans. I miss my plates and silverware and glasses. The only things I kept with me are two mugs, both from dollar stores, both with significant back stories, but I miss eating off plates that aren't covered in "hand painted" crafts, with silverware that's not ornately wrought. I redid the bathroom, and even with my own tastes it still feels like someone-else's body.
I miss sitting on a couch. A real couch, long and sinking. I miss sleeping in a bed that can accommodate my diagonal sleeping habit.
I miss being able to tell people when it's time to leave. Not tip toeing around the borderline psychotic step brother that comes to visit for two days, and inevitably stays for 2 weeks, holed up in the room across the hall that shares my bathroom, with his lizard and an ever accumulating pile of tissues and glassware, while he works up the courage to drive the 3 hour trip home.
I miss the river and the sound of the train in the middle of the night.
I have made a choice. This endurance in return for travel. I have faith that the payout will be greater than the cost...
And that there won't be any lizards in Europe.