To move or not to move… the anxiety of decision

Here I am again in this familiar place. The world around me is quiet… aside from the snores coming from a few rooms away. Once again I am unable to quiet my mind and drift to sleep. Something that comes so easily to so many, my husband included.

I have always had a touch of insomnia. I can remember having trouble sleeping as far back as high school, but something recently has brought back my restless nights. We have decided to move to New Zealand. It seems to be the perfect time. We don’t have children. Neither of us are thrilled with our current jobs. We’re just screeching in under the age limit for their Work Holiday Visa program, which we both were able to get incredibly easily. This is the big adventure I’ve always dreamed of – honestly, that I am getting a second chance at, but more on that later.

So why am I so scared?

Night after night I lie awake running through every scenario. Should we sell most of our stuff and rent our house to strangers vetted by a property management company? Should we just let J’s sister housesit for a year and figure out our next move after our visas expire? Should we just say fuck it, and sell the whole lot of it and never come back?

Part of me wants so badly to tear ourselves away from this life and begin anew, but that fear is paralyzing. What if it doesn’t work out?

It will. I know it will. I don’t know how, but somehow everything always works itself out.

I’m just afraid I don’t have what it takes to make it work. Mostly because I failed before. I had grand plans after college. I spent the summer after graduating working as a waitress. In the fall I headed off to Peru to spend six weeks volunteering with a non-profit focused on providing renewable energy to rural mountain villages. I came home for the big holidays, spent a month in Malibu hiking and eating grape nuts, then on Feb 13, 2011 I left LA and arrived two days later in Sydney, Australia.

I was going to spend my 12 month Working Holiday Visa having the time of my life, only thats not how it turned out. Every step I took to turn my experience around landed me further into an expectation busted depression and 3 months in I gave up and flew home. I would say its my only regret in life, except that had I stayed, I may not have met my husband, and that would be devastating to my current self.

So here I am today, yet again planning a journey to that far corner of the globe, not knowing whats in store. I should feel more at ease this time around, with my best friend by my side. But for some reason I am more terrified than ever.

I was hoping fleshing out my feelings in writing would calm my nerves. This hasn’t helped at all.

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