Seven months into living in Lithuania, I can say this: moving countries with three children and two dogs is both less glamorous and more life-changing than it sounds.
I think I imagined long dog walks, time to sort life out, and a gentle exhale after café life. Instead, this year has been expensive, messy, emotional, surprising, and not at all straightforward.
Before moving, I genuinely thought I would have loads of time. Time to walk the dogs properly, time to potter in the garden, time to sort my documents, digital clutter, and all the life admin that had been piling up for years. At one point I even imagined I might take a herbalist course. It all felt very dreamy and very possible. Perhaps the biggest illusion of all was thinking I would suddenly have loads of time.
In reality, moving countries has turned out to be wildly expensive, especially with the legal bits, school transitions, private schooling, and that awkward phase of paying for life in two countries at once. Add job changes into the mix and suddenly income starts feeling like manna from the sky. Thankfully, the end of that part is beginning to come into view now that Joni has not one but two jobs.
When we were trying to find somewhere to live, which was extra hard with dogs because people seemed to think dogs would do more damage than children, funny really, I promised the landlord I would walk them constantly. They would hardly be at home, I said. I also promised I loved gardening and would look after the garden beautifully. I even mentioned that I used to have an allotment years ago, before café life took over. At the time, I truly believed all of this.
As it turns out, I get about five child-free hours a day, and even that goes quickly. School runs are far longer than they used to be. In England, it was five minutes. Now it is at least twenty minutes each way. So what do I do with my precious five hours? Quite a lot of it now goes on creative work, which still surprises me a little. A smaller chunk goes on moving admin, because yes, we are somehow still settling in, and the usual house routines barely fit around it all. Any life sorting happens very slowly, in bits and pieces. And dog walking? Not exactly three glorious walks a day. At the moment the dogs get frequent garden runs, which sounded fine in winter, but now that spring is springing they have already dug the place up rather efficiently.
I have also discovered that Lithuanian soil is nothing like our old clay soil in England. It is sandy, light, and incredibly easy for dogs to fling absolutely everywhere. So there is now a garden rescue plan slowly forming in my mind involving mini fences, ground clover, and me finally doing what I confidently promised in the first place: properly walking the dogs.
As for gardening, I am keeping it very simple this year. I have accepted that this is not the year of grand transformation. It is the year of basic survival, a little bit of planting, and repairing whatever damage the dogs have done.
Despite all that, one thing has stayed as I hoped it might. I do make time to see my mum once a week, and that has been lovely. Having family twenty minutes away has been both nice and strange at the same time.
Coming back to my home town has also been emotional in ways I did not fully expect. This move has brought up so many memories, both good and bad. I understand my childhood differently now through an adult lens. I understand better why I left for the UK in the first place. At the same time, I feel grateful that I get to reopen and heal some of those parts of myself here, together with Joni and the children.
Now that we are almost settled, I can say there is so much I love here. I love Kaunas architecture. Those swirly, detailed rooftops are grand and full of character, and I am completely in awe of them. I also love that nature is always just around the corner, and that I can walk among pine trees on soft moss whenever I fancy.
I also love the pastry culture here. There are patisseries everywhere, full of fabulous, elaborate bakes. Even supermarkets sell decent pastries, which means I barely feel the need to bake at all. That said, sourdough cake baking is still on my mind, so watch this space. I also love varškė, and my dad’s salted salmon, which he regularly makes for us all to take home. Most of all, despite our differences, being close to family has been really special. I hope we can make it work. Fingers crossed.
But I do miss England too. I miss the lovely people and the sense of community. I miss clay soil, which is not something I ever expected to say, but here we are. I miss coffee, and not just because I used to run a café. Honestly, truly good coffee is not that easy to find here. Perhaps one day I will sort a UK supply route for myself. Joni has been missing Yorkshire Tea, because English Breakfast here just does not quite cut it, so naturally he smuggled some back from the UK on his last trip. And finally, I miss mayonnaise. Even Hellmann’s does not taste the same here, and yes, that matters more than it probably should.
What I have realised, slowly, is that slow living is not the same as having loads of free time. I used to think it meant spacious days, long walks, and everything neatly sorted. But life here is not especially empty or leisurely. The days still fill up quickly, admin still exists, and the dogs are certainly not living their best three-walks-a-day life.
What has changed is something subtler. Slow living, for me, has become less about how much time I have and more about how I hold it. Fewer things feel urgent. There is more acceptance that not every task needs doing today. There is more room for family, for small routines, and for noticing where I actually am.
We are still not certain whether Lithuania is our long-term plan. But seven months in, I can say this much: the move has been hard, beautiful, expensive, emotional, and unexpectedly clarifying. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I think I am beginning to understand both this place and myself a little better.
Thank you for reading along. I hope you all have a lovely Easter break.
Rasa