It starts with a dream. A persistent desire. The pressure builds until your soul can no longer stand it. You’ve got to go and do what you want. What you have yearned for. The sacrifice for faded love must end. The alternative is a slow, suffocating death.
There is no other alternative.
You know it’s crazy. People tell you you’re nuts. Irresponsible. Out of your mind. And yet you persevere.
At last! The divorce is final. The house is yours to sell. You pack up your worldly possessions and have them stored in a facility in the North.
After meeting with the travel agent – the brightness of the future mapped out – you buy the tickets for you and your 10-year-old daughter. You are going. Leaving this small life behind. The burdens having been shucked off like a pair of ill-fitting boots. The only planning you worry about now is where to go first and for how long. The only responsibility you bear is getting to the airport on time.
First Destination? Iceland.
And then it’s on to Scotland and England.
A hollow flat in Portugal.
A dairy farm in Wales.
It’s a five-month carousel of adventures in places you only ever read about. Places you once could only have imagined. And yet you made it happen.
All by yourself.
You made the choice. Stared judgement down and laughed in its face. You decided that regret was far worse than the scornful skepticism of small minds and you went for it. The timing was important.
You lived your life.
And thank God you did, because you taught me how to do the same.
Ready to live? Live your own life and make choices, all by yourself. Check out my good friend Susan Hyatt’s blog and send her a postcard with your life’s desire on it. Tell her I sent you.
{ 6 comments }
I’m confused. Are you the 10 year old Jessica in the postcards above?
Hi there! Yes, that’s me! When I was 10, my mom decided to leave our Western Pennsylvania home and travel to Europe and then move to Maine. It was her dream and it completely changed both of our lives. XOXO
Wow, that is just astonishing and so inspirational.
Thank you so much, Ann! You do flatter me.
I love the postcard written by 10-year-old you.
xoxo
I think it’s pretty hilarious that it looks like I wrote it with my foot and that I had to write my name below my signature so they would know it was me, except the text is nearly as bad as the signature. I guess not going to fifth grade really ruined my penmanship skills.