For years, saving became our lifestyle. We got good at saying no to easy entertainment and impulse spending, and settled into the monotony of a daily routine that rarely changed. It was Groundhog Day over and over and that was the point.
We had hit our savings goal. There were no more responsible excuses to delay or move the goalposts. The phase of dreaming from a distance — watching other travelers live the life we wanted, dropping pins on maps, quietly stockpiling cash while staying safely inside our 9-to-5 routine — was over.
Our focus snapped from abstract to concrete. Screening tenants to rent our house. Conversations we’d soon need to have with our employers. Combing through international medical insurance policies line by line.
Gear went from bookmarked to bought. Merino wool and technical pieces were tested, dialed in, and tetris-ed into the packing scheme. Weekend dirtbike rides became cautious – no room for a stupid injury this close to departure. Major maintenance services and strengthening upgrades were done on the bikes, and other spare parts were accumulated. Trips to the dump and goodwill were made to thin the clutter from the house that we’d rather not have to move and pay to store.
We did as much preventative maintenance and inspection on the house as we could think of. If there was going to be a problem I wanted to know about it now, not when we are trying to enjoy a chocolate finca experience in Ecuador. I got my wish – during an inspection, we discovered that a lot of the original plumbing under our 1973 house was pretty compromised. That repair and update was way bigger money than we wanted to spend on the house, but it didn’t break the trip.
With every strategic purchase and every increasingly specific question from my parents, time sped up. It began to feel like the train was now moving too fast to jump off — not that we wanted to. We were locked in and building up to the scary, pin-pull moment on the whole ordeal: making the announcement to our jobs.
I didn’t have many fears for this trip, other than the eagle-sized mosquitos in Alaska that will probably pick me up and carry me off. What gave me real heartburning anxiety was my perception that I’m potentially flushing my career down the toilet. That future employers in my niche, white collar industry wouldn’t touch me after abandoning my current company to do something like this. Words of reassurance from anyone “don’t worry, you’ll get another job” did not land — they only made me more spooked. The anxious anticipation was excruciating. I wanted to close my eyes, skip this part, and wake up on the road pointed north. Just minutes before that Microsoft Teams call, my heart was pounding in my throat.
But as they say, the anxiety of anticipation is always 10x worse than doing the actual thing. Once it was done, the relief was immediate and exhilarating. It felt so powerful to be able to quit a job to chase my dream.
As I write this we are exactly two months out from departure. Time feels warped — racing ahead and dragging at the same time. We’re more prepared than we’ve ever been, and still somehow buried in what’s left to do. For every task we tick off the list, three more seem to sprout.
There’s no more “someday” buffer. No more abstract version of this life. It’s close enough to feel now – that we’re about to leave for the life we’ve spent years building.
