As long ago as 1990, when I met my husband in Japan, I had wanted to move there. In fact, it was even earlier than that. Looking back, it seems I have always loved everything Oriental – from the sparseness of home furnishings to the quiet surrender of traditions like the tea ceremony. I decorated my home in the Oriental style, with attention to elegant minimalism, while also paying attention to comfort and an appeal to soft colors that I imagined suffused the Asian landscape. So when my husband-to-be came to visit me in Miami, the intention was that we would both relocate to Australia. The company he was working for at the time was planning to build a golf course in Australia, and he, being a golfer, was slated to be transferred there. The timing was vague, however, and as luck would have it, the Japanese economy plummeted in the early 1990s, so that his company scrapped plans for the new golf course.

It was then that I decided to relocate to Japan.

But then, my husband-to-be came to visit me, and found the sunshine, warmth and inexpensive golf fees too tempting, and so whatever thoughts I had to join him in Japan were switched, and he came to join me in Miami.

I remember feeling disappointed. I had had visions of learning Japanese, integrating in that culture, however alien to everything I had known heretofore, and building a new life in a new country with my new husband.

It strikes me as incongruous and a bit odd that I would seek new adventures given my tendency to extremes in anxiety and conservatism. Perhaps conservatism is a misplaced word; what might be more accurate would be a personality imbued with fear of the unknown. That, too, strikes me as odd, given my mother’s penchant for the novel, the adventure, love of travel, love of the unusual. Did I take after her, in spite of myself? Am I fantasizing myself as anxious and conservative, while in truth being more adventurous than I admit?

I write this with my heart in my throat, beating horrifyingly, feeding me fantasies of failure, or sadness and pain and misery, rather than joy and excitement. To be sure, excitement is my constant companion these days, but it is excitement spawned by fear, not anticipation.

Tomorrow is the day an inspector from Opendoor will come assess the outside of our unit. I’m trying to remain calm in anticipation, wondering about the mechanics of an all-cash offer, and how much the company may finagle the finances before making a final offer. Still, as we wait, it seems fairly certain the number will be pretty wonderful, thereby sealing our decision to relocate.

I feel less anxious this afternoon. A tad calmer. Hideo is right: We have no friends here, no family, and it’s time we integrated into a new life.