The waiting is the hardest part

by Kim on November 11, 2011 · 17 comments

For the past two years Brian and I have been working frantically to fulfill our dream of traveling and my dream of writing.  Starting this blog, telling people of our plans, saving our pennies, preparing our house for sale and then selling it, getting rid of most of our possessions and moving into an apartment- each was a tangible action that brought us closer to the dream.  There is thrill in action. Action keeps me inspired.

Right now we are in a period of inaction.

All of the big hurdles, the things that felt impossible in the beginning,  have been accomplished.  We sold the house.  We got rid of our stuff.  We’ve saved a bunch of money.  We found a fantastic home for our dogs. All the big stuff is done. Now, the only tangible action I’m able to take each day is to stalk Expedia in search of the cheapest one-way flight to Quito, Ecuador (best price so far: $612 per person). 

We have started to tackle some of the smaller things that need to be accomplished before we leave.  We’ve got an upcoming appointment with the travel clinic to discuss the vaccinations we’ll need (I suppose we’ll need them all since, when asked by the clinic where we’ll be traveling, I responded everywhere!) and we’re meeting with a health insurance broker soon.  There are lots of things to consider when shopping for health insurance as a soon-to-be unemployed American.  For instance, securing a high-deductible policy that is HIPPA compliant and considered continuous credible coverage.  Whaa?  It makes my head spin.

So, I suppose we are making a little bit of progress, but day in and day out I sometimes feel as though all I’m doing is daydreaming and drumming my fingers against my desk, waiting for the hours to disappear.

Photo by Dave Stokes, Flickr Creative Commons

I tell myself to enjoy the moment, not to wish away the days.  I’m trying.  I really am.

A friend said: It must feel like an adult version of senioritis and it does, in a way.  But each time I’ve been a senior (twice now: once in high school and once in college) the nostalgic part of me wanted to slow time.  I was aware that I was on the edge of bigger things but I approached those things with a mix of excitement and dread.  There’s no dread this time around, just an almost agonizing sense of anticipation. 

Six months.  Six more months.  It’s so close it feels like a living thing, our third roommate, sitting on the couch between us.  Yet it also seems far into the future and I can’t quite believe my life will one day be that way: the way I’ve dreamed it for so long.  

 

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