I love to talk about adventure, to dream about all the things I will do one day. I have a huge list of places I want to go and things I want to see. It’s right next to the list of furniture I will buy for my home one day, and the book of cute outfits I’ll wear to my fantastic architecture job. I plan, research, make lists. Sometimes I even convince my husband that he should, absolutely, apply for that job that just happened to be posted that he has wanted for so long.
“What if I get it?” he asked.
“Then we’ll go,” I replied, just like that. Like it was no big deal. Like I always planned moves across the country on free weekends. Which was kind of true.
Then he got the call back, the interview, the offer. “It will work out!” I said confidently. And we started making plans.
I’ve always been a dreamer and a planner. And then a doer, because I tend to get myself way too far in to get out. Which is kind of the point.
Like the time we went to a friend’s cabin and found a rope swing out onto the river. It was a scary-looking thing, with rickety 2x4s nailed not-very-securely to the trunk of a tree, and a little path through the trees that this rope swing was supposed to swing through. When you got to the water, you had to let go. If you held on, you would be smashed right into a tower of rocks at the edge of the water.
I wasn’t scared when I was giving others crap for not wanting to do it. “Are you going to?” they asked. “Of course,” I answered. And I was. Until it was my turn, and then I was terrified. And really didn’t want to. But I knew it was going to be fine, and even though I was scared, I did it anyway.
And it was fine. And fun. And it hurt when I hit the water.
There are so many other stories like that. Most that no one would ever even expect. And moving to Arizona was just like it. I was 100% gung-ho on-board until 2 weeks before we left for our house-hunting trip. I couldn’t wait to quit my job and move across the country chasing our dreams. I researched Tucson, I googled everything I could think of, I started looking at houses. Until I realized, umm, yeah, we were going to get on that plane and ACTUALLY move across the country.
I knew it would be fine, just like I had been telling Nate every time he seemed concerned or unsure. “We’ll be fine.” “We’ll figure it out!” “It will be an adventure! I love adventures!”
I don’t know if you can call it bravery – purposly getting yourself in too deep so you can’t back out before you lose your nerve. But it’s worked for me before, and I’m sure it will work again. We’re here now, and yes, it’s fine.