Scaredy Cat

     Am I just a scaredy cat? A silly creature of habit? Not trying hard enough? Feeling sorry for myself? Is that the problem -- just me? I'm willing to take the rap. 

     Or is this really just as hard as it feels?   

     When I was trying to decide whether to take the early retirement offer from my job last year -- no easy decision -- and move here, I went to see a counselor to talk through it all. Neutral territory, explore all your feelings in a non-judgmental environment, all that. Hell, what's the point of being American if you can't go talk to someone? 

    I told her about our dream to go back to Europe, to divide my time between London and our side of the hill in Italy, to finally have the time to enjoy that side of the hill we spent so much time -- and money -- creating. 

    I told her about my dreams to branch out professionally, try new things, go in different directions, not just be a slave to an editor and a newspaper. I told her some of my ideas. I was excited. I got her excited. I can do that. 

    The way I was talking left no doubt in anyone's mind what I wanted to do, if I could. That might be the operative phrase here -- If I could. 

    Maybe I just can't. And that's the problem.

    Here I am now, feeling like I desperately need another job, just like the one I left. No, actually, a lot worse than the one I left because that was a pretty good one. Okay, that's pretty stupid.

    And why do I need it? Because I need to meet some people -- and create my own life. Not just fill my time wandering around London waiting for my husband to come home. I'm just too young for that -- and too restless, have too much energy, have worked too long, have too many ideas, just too much all around.  

    Maybe that was the stupid part. Thinking I could just live here without a job. It's different when  you've lived in a place for a long time. You leave your job, but you still have your full life. And you finally have time to enjoy it. Here, it's basically no job equals no life because I have no easy way to meet people.   

    And then the boys. I totally underestimated how wrenching that would be.   

    I'm planning on going to Italy for a long time soon. And I'm planning on staying until summer's over, until autumn draws in. That's probably not the best thing in terms of settling here -- another two months gone -- but isn't that what this whole adventure was about? 

    But I'm concerned about that too -- although that's what I desperately used to want -- endless time there. My husband will come for a couple weeks at the beginning, and later here and there as his schedule allows, but basically I'll be on my own there a lot.   

    I'm scared to be lonely there too, like I am here. Maybe worse, because I won't have my husband to wait for. Maybe better, because I love that house. And it needs my attention now.

    What about all the exciting plans I had? They all feel kinda scary and stupid now.  

    At our last session, my counselor wrote a note to me on a little piece of paper and told me to keep it in my wallet and look at it when things got tough.

    I looked at it over the weekend, when I missed my old Sunday water aerobics class so much, I thought I might have to cry. (I think I actually did.)    

    The note's about finding the courage to "live large" and "follow your dreams."

    When she gave it to me, I thought, honey, PIECE. OF. CAKE. What's hard is NOT being able to follow your dreams. And boy am I ready to get out of this cage and live large.

     Ha. 

     She must've known how hard it was going to be.  

     It's just me that jumped in without realizing how deep the water was.

               

   

     Two hours later: Unbelievable coincidence. I just got a note from a British friend of mine who's lived in Australia for years. I met her in Hong Kong a long time ago (20 years now) and we have sons the same age. Met at the playground, I seem to remember. Still in touch. 

    Anyway, she hadn't read this, but she wrote that what's challenging about her life now is the alone-ness, as she called it, that she's not working anymore, doesn't have her son around anymore, and often finds herself just waiting for her husband to come home. I think she's lived in Sydney for more than 15 years now, and I just bet she's got lots of friends. Knowing her.

    She also just got back from visiting England, which is where she is originally from. Whenever that was. Whatever that means. She'd like to come back here for longer actually, if she could, do a few months here. Get out of Australia, where she lives with her Australian husband, to come back home for awhile.  

    Okay, it is now official: IT IS NOT JUST ME.

    It's the universal search for home by people who for one reason or another have left their rightful homes; it's empty-nesterhood, what to do with yourself when you've spent the last 20-or-more years consumed with raising children; it's retirement or unemployment, what to do with yourself when you're used to working hard. It's the perfect storm of what to do with the rest of your life.   

     Thank you so much for your note, my friend. It couldn't have come on a better day. 

     And boy do I know what you're talking about.