August 18th 2018. We are standing in my parent’s garage staring at all that is left of our stuff. We just spent the last 2 weeks sifting through and purging 12.3 years of marriage, 9.75 years of kid rearing, and 8.5 years worth of accumulated stuff in our Portland, OR suburban home and reducing it to 8 duffel bags and 1 medium sized moving box ready to load on a plane. We are taking turns standing on a scale trying to figure out how close we are to the 50 lbs limit with each bag so as to not trigger an extra $100 fee when flying this remaining stuff across the world. My parent’s stand by dutifully ready to help out with anything. A few close friends start to gather in the culdesac to wish us well. We’ve been building to this moment for the last 18 months, and I really just had no idea how it was actually going to feel. Was I going to feel paralyzed with fear? Excited for the possibilities? Regret for every decision that led us here? Now that I am here, it’s a weird emotional mash-up of all these things. You wouldn’t be crazy to ask… Why are you subjecting yourself to this kind of emotional turmoil? The answer, like my emotional state at this moment, is complicated.

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