I’d dreamed of leaving the U.S. for at least ten years before finally taking the solo leap into the great unknown—and landing in Portugal.
The impetus for moving came after working two full-time jobs for forty years, thriving on a go-go-go, do-do-do, drive-drive-drive mentality that propelled me forward in Northern California with little consideration for my health or well-being. Being stuck in the 24/7 hamster-wheel grind—and working to live instead of living to work—was all I knew. Perhaps my formative years growing up in Los Angeles shaped this workaholism and overachiever attitude.
Jon Kabat-Zinn’s quote, “Wherever you go, there you are,” held true for me. When I moved to San Francisco in the ’80s, I brought the frenetic pace with me.
I thought it was a good enough life. After twenty years in the city, I moved to a gorgeous area of Northern California, with hiking trails outside my front door. I loved my work as an acupuncturist and novelist. For fun and exercise, I was a trapeze artist, attending circus school in San Francisco. But I never felt like I was home, truly home.
Besides the relentless pace of my jobs, my community was lacking, my values were different, and important issues like preventive healthcare didn’t exist.
But most importantly, my heart was in Europe.
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