Sitting at Houston International Airport having lunch, I am wondering if my dog, Lizzy, will make it to our connecting flight to Belize City. My telephone beeps, signaling an incoming message. It’s my real estate agent from Florida, informing me that the closing on the sale of my house went well, and, attached, I’ll find all documents proving it. A symbol of my pressure-for-time-mode during the past month, the closing was scheduled and completed while I was in-flight from Orlando to Houston, with a final (one-way ticket) destination of Belize.
As I take a sip of my decaf, I stare out at the crowd rushing between gates to catch the next flight, and I choke up. So much behind me, and so much ahead. Within a month, I literally got rid of everything that made up my fairly comfortable life in the USA. The last anchor was my beautiful house with a pool and a fireplace, which I cherished and called home for the past 15 years.
24 hours later, I am sipping a late-night Belikin (cheapest local beer, and I like it) on the dock of my temporary lodging, watching the silver bridge the moon paints on the narrow lagoon behind the the house in Placencia village, Belize. Lizzy, enthusiastic border collie and lab mix, is sitting next to me, panting, moon beams sliding off her glossy, black fur.
Bringing her with me was a challenge, and I still don’t know if I did her any favor.
Yes, we both made it. We are both at the threshold of a completely different life experience.
A returning dive boat breaks the mirror of the water, and as I listen to the ripples lap against the dock under my feet, I do a quick inventory of immediate things to do. Sounds simple: find a place of my own and set up life in a foreign country.
But the questions still haunts me: Did I make the right decision? Is this the right place for Lizzy and me?
I guess the next couple of months will tell.
July 16, 2015.