The Decision

The Needle pointed the wrong direction. A knotted feeling permeated through my body as the results came in. It was clear. We lived in a country where a majority of our voting citizens lived through four years of the man as their president, knew what that felt like, knew what he represented, and signed up to do it again. 

Becki and I had discussed leaving in 2016. I wasn’t ready. We talked about leaving in 2020, but he lost. We didn’t talk about leaving this time. We didn’t need to. America, it was time for us to take a break. Maybe we’ll come back, maybe we won’t. But I want you to know, it’s not you, it’s me. Ok, who am I kidding? It’s you. It’s definitely you. 

As career educators, we’d given our lives helping students and ensuring that we were building a better future for those who followed. We don’t have kids of our own. We had our pets, and our plan was to take a year and travel the world after they’d passed away, eventually deciding where we wanted to end up. However, however on the 5th of November, the waiting was over. The decision was clear, but the logistics were a challenge.

Dj, our black shepherd/lab mix was thirteen years old, on a special diet for IBS, and had arthritis. A move overseas would be tough on him. We didn’t think he’d survive a quarantine. Chloe, our sixteen year old gray and brown tabby couldn’t travel without pooping out of fear. She is the sweetest cat, just doesn’t do carriers. Travel would be hard on her too. But we couldn’t wait. We needed to go. It was time for something different, and we needed to bring them.

“We can’t stay here, but what we have to do seems so overwhelming,” Becki said, anxiously picking at her cuticles. 

I nodded in agreement. “Maybe we take it one step at at time. We work on our resumes now, then start looking for jobs. We need to find somewhere we can work from that also doesn’t have a quarantine period for pets.” 

“I’m just worried you won’t want to go,” Becki nervously said. I’d backed out before. This time was different. As the child of a contentious divorce, having a stable home was always important to me. 

Packing up our lives was the opposite of stable. 

Selling our house and most of our belongings was the opposite of stable. 

Not knowing where we were headed was the opposite of stable. 

“I just need us to have somewhere to go. We find jobs first, secure housing, then I’m good to go,” I replied, the only way I could give myself that sense of stability. “Also, we need to stop buying wine.” 

Becki would inventory the next day and inform me that we had 182 bottles to drink before we left. 

Challenge accepted. 

*Check back on this blog for more updates on the story of our attempt to move abroad. The process is longer than one may think. 

The Needle