We were a bit afraid as we rode to IAH, well anxious at least. By now we were at cruising altitude somewhere over New York when everything came to us. I had to stop eating my dinner to let myself soak in this inevitable realization. We had been striving, dreaming and saving for one specific event, and suddenly we sat there staring at the manifestation of our aspirations, the mountain we were supposed to climb. Subtly daunting would be the best way to explain our situation. How do you go from one place that you’ve lived your entire life, say “screw it” and leave? I guess the answers lie somewhere within Cathi and I’s attitudes. Or maybe personalities? Or aspirations? Pinpointing the why is both impossible and unnecessary at this point, I guess. We were en route with a now used up one-way, and apprehensively ecstatic about it all. For two young married folk, we were ‘all in’ on this Spain hand we had dealt ourselves. This opportunity could be the springboard to our careers or a cannonball into the shallow end. We had leaped through the right bureaucratic hoops and played jump rope with the miles of red tape in securing our visas. The hard part was done…right? All that lay ahead of us was finding a place to live in a foreign city, opening bank accounts using a language we don’t entirely grasp, staying afloat financially for a month with only the money we had saved (appreciate that one, Spanish government), and starting a brand new job with only passive guidance on our tasks. Easy enough. Oddly, though, those stark details seemed to slip though the mind’s cracks unnoticed for a few seven hours or so. I looked back at my lukewarm dinner and decided instead that I’d rather finish my shrink-wrapped salad, then try to con another beer from the drink cart attendant before I attempt sleeping. It was impossible to keep a slight grin from my face, none of it mattered now: we’re going to live in Spain.
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