Dying in Greyopolis

I’ve decided I want to move to New Zealand.

That’s right. I’ve never been off the North American continent and I want to haul my family half way across the world and set up a new life there.

I would do it in a heart beat if I had the money. If I had the money and my husband and kids would agree to it.

Therein lies the problem.

My husband definitely would never want to do it.

How could I figure out what we would do with the children? Could I leave them? Have couple-months visits with them while my husband stayed here? How would I pay for my diabetic supplies? How would I earn a living?

Why am I thinking like this?

I want an adventure. I want to live anywhere other than Greyopolis. My grandmother’s best fried died 2 days ago. My grandmother barely had a reaction. She’ll be dead soon too. I don’t think I could stand to suffer another winter here. I want to leave. I want to move far away from here.

How can I make this dream a reality?

I would write a book about it. That could garner me some cash. Writing about the trials and tribulations of moving your family halfway across the world.

It would be incredible.

I wish I wasn’t a kept woman. I wish I had some money of my own. I wish I could have my family and adventure too. I don’t understand why just because I chose to have children and a house that means I’m forever doomed to live out the end of my days here.

I made a choice. I made my choice to have this life.

Now I want to make another choice. I want to move. I want to have adventure in my life.

Why can’t I have my family and my adventure?

Never mind the fact that it would kill my mother. What would she do with all her grandchildren halfway around the world? Christmas in New Zealand in the middle of summer? That thought alone makes me giggle.

I’m tired of living for everyone else.

When 1/1 was a baby, I got it into my head that I would move to China to teach English. At the time I was a single mother, living with my parents and grandparents.

My mother didn’t speak to me for a month. I don’t know if any of you realize how difficult that is. A full month. Not a word. Any time I tried to initiate conversation she walked away. She was crushed. She told me later that it was the single most painful thing I’ve ever done to her.

It made me angry because I had spent a lot of money on the TESOL course and I thought it would have been great. I had it all planned out.

The best laid plans and whatever else they say.

I keep talking to my husband about moving to Mexico to teach English there. I had mentioned Japan (before the earthquake) because my husband has always wanted to go there. He’s not interested in living anywhere other than here.

I told him he better get used to the idea of leaving because there was no way on God’s green Earth that I was staying here in Greyopolis.

I’ve wanted to move to the West Coast since I was 13. My sister lives there now and she keeps telling me how amazing it is and that I totally need to move there. I want to. I want to so bad.

I would move anywhere if I had the chance.

I would risk my marriage to leave. I just don’t know if I could risk my children.

 

 

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One response to “Dying in Greyopolis

  1. If only you knew how much I can empathize with you on this! I have many days when I wish with all my being that I could go…move to England, India, Chile…anywhere but here in demoralizing, cardboard suburbia with square lawns and tall fences and neighbors who don’t even say hello to each other. I crave adventure so badly, but I am married to a complete homebody who would rather sit and stare into space in his free time. If not for the kids…

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