The flights are booked. The moving company came for an estimate. The cats went to the vet.
This is happening.
Thomas has been calling this “the closest thing to living in space without actually leaving the planet,” which is accurate based on the landscape photos I’ve seen. He’s the optimistic one. I make the lists and stare at them.
What I haven’t said out loud much is the part that’s harder to explain: the impulsive speed of this decision. The job offer came, and I said yes before the rational part of my brain had time to build a case for caution. That’s a pattern I recognize in myself. It has cost me before, and it has also taken me to the most interesting places in my life. I’ve made peace with that particular trade-off.
This time I believe it’s the right call. But I’d be lying if I said there aren’t moments — usually at 2am — where I run the math on everything I’m leaving behind and wonder what I’m doing.
The answer I keep coming back to: the same thing I’ve always done. Moving toward the thing that feels most like living.
The cat’s surgery went fine. The dog goes tomorrow. We leave in about ten days.