I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but a way to buy the incredible home I'd found in Goce. So I started pigeon-holing everything in my life -- focus on client projects from this time to that time of the day, schedule these specific times for family and social events, spend these hours trying to sell things, devote these hours to figuring out how to finance the property. With a mere 24 hours in a day, my life was insane.
I also found myself dealing with some familial stress. My brothers and sisters were happy for me and this new direction in my life. When I asked my Dad what he thought about my moving to Europe, he smiled, shrugged and said, "Well, I don't know why you shouldn't." He thought this adventure would be good for me. My Mom was the only person in my life who didn't want me to go and would, in fact, tear up a bit every time the issue surfaced. Among my family members, Mom is fairly famous for being masterful at what we call, "The Big G." "G," of course, stands for "guilt." At times in my life, The Big G has been beneficial as a tool to put my moral compass back into alignment. At other times, The Big G has been a big pain in the you-know-what. Of course, I was magnifying the effect with my own element of guilt. My parents are getting older and more frail and that's often the time when kids decide to move closer to their parents rather than half a world away. My Mom and Dad sacrificed for me during the first 18 years of my life. Didn't I owe them?
I have to place some of the blame for my Mom's lack of enthusiasm on the fact that she believed if I moved to Europe, she'd never see me again. You see, I have a sister who lives in Florida and hadn't been home for six years. I told Mom that I wasn't my sister and that I hoped to come back to the States at least twice a year. I don't think that reassured her much and since she's a mother, that's her prerogative. The irony is that she and my Dad had raised me to tackle the world, instilling in me confidence and my rather dominant independent streak. Didn't they have to shoulder at least some of the blame for my mid-life move?
The mere idea of living in Europe is, well, foreign to her. My Dad served a brief Army stint in Europe between Korea and Vietnam. My Mom hadn't traveled outside the U.S. except for my brother's wedding. Their world might be small but they made sure their children's was not. They didn't send us on study-abroad trips; too many kids and not enough money. Still, they showed us the world by encouraging us to read, achieve and dare to dream.
The fact is, my Mom simply has to overcome her fear of water. She's done it before and I know she can do it again.
The first vacation I can remember was a week at my aunt and uncle's resort on a lake in southern Missouri. In fact, that's where we spent a week every single summer during my youth. While that didn't offer a lot of variety, we kids and Dad loved going where we spent as much time as we could in or on the water. I have great memories of fishing in the wee hours of the morning with my Dad, canoeing along the shoreline, swimming from a tiny patch of sandy beach, and learning to water-ski from a sitting position on the dock. We had no fear of water or anything else, and getting us to wear our life jackets was nearly impossible.
But from the time we were very young, Mom hauled us kids to Red Cross swimming lessons every summer. We didn't realize until years later that not only could Mom not swim, but she had a deathly fear of the water. For most of my childhood, she sat bravely in boats, always with a life jacket bound tightly around her and, had I noticed, probably white-knuckled most of the time from gripping a side rail on whatever boat we were in. I never remember seeing fear in her eyes or hearing it in her voice. She took us to those swimming lessons because she wanted to make sure none of us would have her fear, and that all of us would be able to swim. Years later, when my youngest sister started taking lessons, Mom did too. She learned to put her head under water without panic, to dog paddle, and to float on her back and her stomach. And somewhere in the process in her late 30s, she overcame her fear of water. None of us kids will ever know what that fear is like because of her resolved determination to make sure we didn't. I pray that she can overcome her fear of my life on another continent just as quietly and as bravely as she overcame her fear of water. My parents gave us all wings to fly (and fins to swim). Still, when any of us chooses to use them, Mom and Dad are entitled to be apprehensive. It's their job.
Besides the emotional turmoil, I faced the practical financial matters of my mid-life move. I kept trying to liquidate possessions, selling several things during a yard sale but failing in my attempts to sell most of the larger items. No matter how hard I tried, they just wouldn't move in an economy where everyone had cinched their belts tighter than a hangman's noose. Unfortunately, I was the one who was poised on the platform, ready to fall through the trapdoor. I had to relent on my stubborn need to go it alone, telling my generous friend that I would take her up on her offer to co-sign my loan. Not even full disclosure of my current financial situation scared her away. She is a believer. She would co-sign a loan for an amount that should allow me to pay off the balance, the realtor's fees and leave a little in my pocket for the inevitable expenses I would have when moving in.
Having someone co-sign a loan for you is a frightening proposition, to say the least. I didn't want this to be all about some dream of mine, so I based my acceptance of her offer on logic rather than fantasy. First, I knew the property was worth far more than the sale price of 98,000 Euros. There were people willing to pay at least 150,000, if not more. So, I knew that if I never made a single improvement to the place, I could turn around and sell the property for a profit of more than 50,000 Euros. After repaying the loan, I would have more than $70,000 in my pocket that would pay off all of my debts and give me a huge chunk of change for whatever I pursued next in life. Second, I was putting my proverbial affairs in order which included a life insurance policy that would more than cover the bank loan and my debts. Bolstered by these facts, I reached a decision.
I was going to own a house in Slovenia.
Now, I had to create a new "to-do" list to work on before I flew back to Europe at the end of September. I had three weeks to move my account to the bank we had agreed on, meet with a lawyer to handle my will and power of attorney, work out the loan details and sign all of the paperwork. We signed the papers on Tuesday. Six days later, armed with my new passport, driver's license, international driver's license and money in my U.S. bank account, I boarded a plane bound for Spain. I had never been so excited and yet so scared at the same time.
When I landed at the airport in Barcelona, Running Man (RM) was waiting for me, again with a white orchid. Suddenly, I felt my fear subside leaving only my giddy excitement. For more than a year, I had placed fanatical importance on making this move entirely on my own. But seeing his handsome, smiling face waiting on the other side of the customs line, where the officials put the first stamp in my new passport, I realized something very important. I was never going to have to do anything alone in my life. I never had. Family had raised me to be independent and confident. My family and friends had always provided moral support and two very good friends had loaned me money to make this happen. RM had given me not only phenomenal support with his knowledge of Europe, language skills and connections, but had been with me every step of the way, reassuring me, educating me and talking me down when I wandered out on a ledge. His was not just the voice of reason but an echo of my own thoughts and dreams. Could I have done this without him? That was a critical question for someone who never, ever wanted to be dependent again upon a man for anything in life.
But I knew the answer. I might not have ended up with this magical property in Slovenia, but I would have landed on my feet somewhere in the world. I was absolutely, positively sure about that. I had no fear of water or anything else.
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