Last year I set a goal for myself to be out of debt and out of the country by August 15th (give or take a few days), 2016. It’s been my dream since I was a teenager to quit my job, sell all of my shit and just leave. Not because anything happened, not because there is nothing here for me, not because I don’t love and won’t miss my family. Just to do it, just to see if it’s in the realm of things I am capable of and because there is so much more to this world than the sprawl of suburbia that’s taking over the countryside of the DFW Metroplex.
My dad has always told me that to succeed in life I need to go to college, get a job, make a career and save, save, save. I’ve done those things mostly. I’m done with college. I’ve been through numerous jobs and now I have one that is blooming into a fairly lucrative career if I decide to stay, and if I come back it will more than likely still be there. He’s coming around to the idea that I might be boarding a plane to the other side of the world in just eight months, and that I might not come back for a while.
I keep saying might, or maybe, or eventually. It’s happening. There is no more maybe, I need to wrap my head around that because if I don’t this adventure I’ve been so desperate to go on for half my life won’t happen. Today I end the maybes and could bes and the possiblies and the mights. Today I am certain. I have a lot of research and planning to do.