It’s not always easy being here.

It’s getting colder. Sooner than last year, too (although this weekend the weather was actually gorgeous). I can see my breath in the bathroom in the morning and at night. The water out of the faucet is as close to ice as you can get while retaining its liquid form. Sweaters replace shorts. Slippers for sandals.

Daylight disappears earlier and earlier every day, and along with it, motivation to work hard doing anything in the evening. In bed, under covers, is a happy and warm place.

Food is also warm and comforting and, at our house, often delicious. Willpower to consume appropriate portions is tested at every meal.

Vegetarian chili we made for our host family last week. It was too hot for everyone but our host sister, who ate some of it, but we ate the lion's share.

Sometimes I want things to be easy. I want to understand and be understood. I want those obnoxious car horns to go silent. I want to not be stared at. I want medical advice that doesn’t involve yogurt. I want you to schedule something in advance, then start on time. I want you to form a line, for chrissake.

I want heat. I want to cook. I want to wear different clothes. I want to make money doing something I love. I want to have dinner with my family and drink good beer with my friends. I want to play with our cats. I want to drive. I want, I want, I want.

I want to go home.

But I don’t, really. Not really. If we did, we would. But the truth is, the grass is always greener.

The America in my mind is easily romanticized: the land of iPhones, All-Clad cookware, big-screen football games, hot showers and politeness. The reality is far less romantic; insurance plans, bills, a million responsibilities and idiot drivers.

In reality, we know that although we have sacrificed a lot to be here, we also have an incredible opportunity. That we’re doing something most people only think about doing. That maybe we’re making an impact somehow. That we have seen and will continue to see amazing places on this side of the world. That we’re having the kinds of cultural experiences that we will remember and keep with us forever.

It all depends on the lens through which we view things. For example, this weekend I either a) had an amazing cultural experience and bonding moment with my host mom, harvesting Saperavi grapes from generations-old vines and making wine by hand, so our host family will have wine to celebrate with for the coming year… or b) I squeezed a bunch of grapes for a couple hours til my hands hurt and got stains on my pants that probably won’t come out.

The real story is both of those things — not one or the other. Both things happened. It’s easy on a blog or in stories to show the view through only one lens, and it’s easy when it’s cold and windy and you’re in your room and the power goes out to see things only through the other. But the real story is one lens stacked on top of the other, forming a complete picture.

The real story is that this experience, like everything else in life, is what we make of it. Sometimes I want to make more of it than at other times, and that’s fine. That’s a choice.

There’s always a choice.

We have almost exactly nine months left in Georgia. Only nine months. Amazing. Almost on the home stretch. Starting our second winter.

I’m not going to be one of those guys counting down the days til the plane takes off. I don’t want to blow this opportunity by wishing for the next one. We’re here… and the challenge — the real challenge, more than language, food, cold, showers, etc. — is to be here, in every sense of the word.

Some days that’s more challenging than others.