Going for a walk on Boxing Day has become a family tradition over the last decade or so; we’ll shove a full English breakfast into our faces, then head out to a park or reservoir in the freezing cold and walk around it until the shivers have replaced the bloatedness.

There are small things like this that I will miss. I think I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the conveniences and advantages of the UK that I’ll be leaving behind, but something doesn’t have to be uniformly positive in order to feel its loss. The idea of going for a hike in the middle of winter, in shoes that are hardly designed for any weather worse than light showers, is a bit of a ludicrous one - nevertheless, it’s an annual event, predictable in its slight discomfort and numb fingertips, and when Boxing Day (or, as it’s known in the US, December 26th) rolls around next year, I’ll feel the absence.

Over time, I expect other things to fill those gaps. The joy of moving is that instantly, there is something new in place - the immediate presence of the love of my life, a family willing to take me under their wing, and a thousand strange American things that creep up on you and insinuate themselves into everyday life. (I had never seen a toaster oven before I came to America, and while I’ll concede that they do exist here, it’s easier to pretend that they don’t.)

But now, there’s value in taking each tradition, one by one, and breathing it in for the last time. A little meditation in the cold.