Hold It, Hold

Today was my return to Pilates after a few weeks away: travel, a spring cold, the usual disruptions. I knew it would be tough before I even walked in, but I groaned when I saw the Pilates rings waiting on each reformer. The studio has a mix of Scottish and Australian instructors, a delightful blend of friendly-but-firm that keeps us working harder. “Ok, team, I know those rings weigh 1.5 kilos, but we only have three more reps, two more reps, and last one, hold it, hold, and now rest!”

After a grueling re-entry session, the instructor and I chatted about how hard it is after just a few weeks off. What I didn’t say was that the entire class I was wondering: Will I still be coming here in just a few months? What will my studio be like in the Netherlands? How long until I find the same sense of belonging?

I lucked into my local spot right after moving to Edinburgh in 2024 and have been loyal ever since. Now there’s only a chance, however uncertain, that we might stay in Scotland. My Global Talent visa has been submitted. But the path to staying has become far more precarious than we anticipated.

We had high hopes initially. Then Jeff was laid off, and despite 10 years at Apple and patents to his name, he was turned down for Global Talent. Only 25% of people securing this type of visa are women, and I’m acutely aware of how gendered these pathways remain. Changes to Skilled Worker visas have made this route more competitive than ever before. Even our solicitors, who’ve navigated this terrain for years, lack confidence in forecasting what may or may not happen. What worked in the past no longer works now. 

I tell people there’s a 20% chance we’ll stay, though that doesn’t align with any real understanding I have. It’s just easier to perform certainty, to say we’ll most likely be leaving, than to admit I have so little control over what happens next. The odds are not in our favour of staying either way.

Pattern recognition is one of my default skills. I have an uncanny knack for predicting how situations will play out. But this one is a black box. Or more accurately: a game of roulette. At least this wheel doesn’t have a zero option. Red, we stay here. Black, we move to the Netherlands. We want red. We both really want red.

And yet we know there are so many genuinely amazing things about the Netherlands that are better than Scotland. Easy access to an entire continent, not just a large island. We’ve built a robust and happy life in the UK, and that means we could do it again somewhere new, maybe even with some unexpected advantages. 

I’m not romanticizing my possible next life in Leiden or Den Haag. Learning Dutch is daunting AF. It’s an expensive and multi-faceted place. But I love bicycles and public transportation. I can imagine a time when we head to Paris for a few days on a whim, catching an off-season hotel deal. It’s not what I have now, but I choose to leave room for the unexpected upsides as much as the possible downsides of moving.

This is a new level of ambiguity for me, marinating in liminality. Jeff asked what we want to do for Christmas, and I said let’s figure out which land mass we reside on before making any plans. If we stay here, we can finally buy a home. I know the shape of that life, full of potential. If we move, I don’t even know which city I should search in for my next Pilates studio, let alone a home. And yes, I am aware of how privileged that statement is, I am very grateful for the life I will be able to lead in either place. 

But right now all I can hear is the loud clack, clack, clack of the wheel spinning at its fastest pace. Over the next eight weeks, we’ll hear it start to slow as we move inexorably toward the deadline for Tech Nation to approve or deny my endorsement. Jeff believes my application is stronger than his, but there is no way of knowing. 

For much of my life, I’ve been someone who doesn’t handle unexpected change well. In Seattle, I had a really hard time making friends. Here I’ve built a new life that I love, through hard work as much as luck. I’m more skilled at meeting people, trying new things, being a more flexible person open to the world.

It won’t be easy, but I can see how future periods of transition will happen more smoothly for me because of what I’m learning now. The reps are hard, and some days leave me shaking. But like holding that Pilates ring overhead, trembling, waiting for the instructor to say “and rest,” I’m building strength.

Spring in Edinburgh is a revelation, a riot of greens: chartreuse, kelly, and evergreen leaves popping out everywhere. I can appreciate it, breathing it in, knowing it might or might not be my last one here. I remind myself, hearing that distant click-click-click of the roulette wheel in the back of my mind, we win either way.