Being afraid of looking stupid, that’s where most people get stuck.
Unfortunately for your father and I, we’ve never been afflicted by the paralyzing fear of risk, and we’ve never subscribed to the fallacy of sunk cost. And, by the grace of God, we’ve been relatively insulated from the consequences of our own impulses, both those real and potential.
I guess it’s always been this way—we got married sooner than is advisable, adopted a cat, and booked one-way tickets to another continent. When the world experienced a turning point, we pivoted, had a couple of kids, and here we are, six whirlwind years later.
Oh, and somewhere in there, we moved internationally. Not once, not twice, but THREE times. We learned new languages, hosted a cat cafe (with all 13 of our cats!) and made unforgettable friends.
Right now, though? The memories are fading, and the days are becoming mundane (although, you just got your first bike, and that’s the most fun we’ve had in a while!). Our journey is beginning to feel endless and aimless, as we find ourselves back where we started, only this time, a little bit older.
The truth is, the world is our home, and this world is not our home. I’m beginning to accept that wherever we are in the world, we will feel like foreigners. But one thing you should know, is that you have friends everywhere you go.
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Before we left for Thailand the second time, we sat on the kitchen floor of our flat in northern Spain, drinking an Asturian cider and throwing out ideas for our forever home. It was the same electromagnetic energy that we got married on, and the same energy that propelled us to pack our bags, sell our furniture, donate our coats, and move back to Thailand.
Although leaving some of our most cherished friendships, we were giddy to go because we were on the brink of something. We were just a long-haul flight away from homegrown pineapples, mangoes bigger than of your head, and fresh coconut water for less than a dollar.
But even more than that, we were compelled by the plans for our “Eden,” —the place we’ll plant a massive garden and go to live out our days, however numbered they may be. Our little slice of the closest thing to Heaven, on Earth.
When Daddy suggested that we get a donkey to protect our future chickens, you had the perfect name picked out—Fizzy. Soon, you’d picked out another name—Butter. So now, wherever we end up, it has to include two donkeys, just for you.
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When we landed in Bangkok, we couldn’t have written a better drama ourselves. So much happened in so short a time that we took the hint, and decided to pivot again. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s being flexible. We’ll just have to wait a little bit longer for Fizzy and Butter, Honey.
The truth is, we’re not aimless. We’re not even picky anymore. And we’re sure trying hard to not be foolish these days. While things have gone pretty well overall, we’re far from aspirational or admirable.
They say it’s all about the journey, not the destination, and I’ve never believed that. But I hope it’s true, because our journey continues.
Instead of paying debt and interest, we’re going to find out what it’s like to never owe anyone another dollar. We’re going to find out what it feels like to be methodical and intentional instead of impulsive and reactive.
My boy, we’re going to find out what it feels like to splash in Nordic waters. And one day, we’ll find out what it feels like to wake up to roosters crowing and donkeys braying.
So on we charge, fearless. Knowing that every step in the journey prepares us for the next. On we go, grinning as we stand on the verge of the unknown.
Homeward, homeward, to freedom and Fizzy and Butter.