Some people plan their lives, especially the last chapter of it. They (my hand is up) obsess about where they’ll end up, how much money they’ll need, will their health take a turn? And what’ll they look like … ugh, do we have to?
Others just live vicariously and walk the path no matter where it leads. Gosh I wish I could join their parade. I’m exhausted from the worrying and speculation. Will it be too hot in Southern California? Will it be too expensive in a blue state? Is Portugal really the answer experts claim it to be? Or, will I just trip and tumble down four flights of stairs the next time I do laundry? For this reason, I am a laundry denier. Things gotta get really bad first. If I’m pulling on my worn and torn Fordham University hoodie I know it’s time, cuz it’s got maybe three more wash and dry cycles left in it. I need that sweatshirt! That’s my go-to worry wear.
During the past week, all retirement plans have officially become a frog tossed in a blender. One of us (not me) is taking a transfer deal, our house is going on the market and one of us (me) refuses to move to the destination of the other for reasons I’ll keep to myself. So it’s looking like separate destinations for a couple of years, which isn’t exactly a bad idea after thirty five years. The downside is splitting up the dogs, although I think they too need a break from each other.
The planning and worrying has thusly been tossed out.
Nobody planned this move whatsoever.
All that energy. All that angst.
New energy / new angst. Oh and no definitive plan. Time to live vicariously. I’m not gonna walk around this enormous house trying to decide what goes where and with whom. It’s too exhausting. You gotta anticipate climates as we’re definitely heading toward extremes. One hint: I HATE HEAT! It’ll just be a one maybe two years max. It’ll be fine.
So why is my stomach in a knot? I’m a planner living at a new address > TBA!