Finally, after an unreasonably long time, the original Certificates of Eligibility arrived. I was operating under an enormous amount of anxiety, barely able to breathe, waiting for the Express Mail to arrive. What was promised as a sojourn of four days turned into nine! During that time, my anxiety ran the gamut from missing our plane to having the certificates lost and having to redo the entire process again! I vowed to myself that I would not go through that again. 

And yet, in spite of my reluctance to relocate, here I am on the verge of following my husband to Japan. I'm still on the fence, still debating with myself, still wondering why the hell I'm doing this. I don't speak the language, and anticipate years of study before I am able to comfortably deal with the intricacies of daily living. Much as I keep claiming that I'm not committed to the move, here I am going through all the steps of moving! 

I am not wearing rose-colored glasses. I am wholeheartedly aware of the many difficulties awaiting me. Even though Hideo promises to help, he has a different temperament, and his idea of helping often does not match mine. Still, I'm going. Reluctantly. 

Interesting to realize just how much we've gotten rid of. We sold some of our things, but mostly have given stuff away. Lots of stuff: all my books, even the special, hard-cover volumes I had collected over the years; I've given away my entire record collection; bookcases, TVs, original framed paintings, lamps. I don't feel any lighter yet; don't feel any freer yet, though I have a feeling I will, soon. I am almost anticipating missing my "things," although I realize on some level that my "things" have weighed me down over the years. They have been my anchors, and now, at the age of 72, I am uprooting myself completely from my comfortable life. 

Three months ago, I made the decision to sell my home. I am using the singular pronoun since it was really my own decision to sell. We did discuss it together, as a couple, but the price seemed so enticing that we decided to sell. It was only after that decision was made that we began to talk seriously about moving to Japan. Then we began to conduct all the necessary research into what was needed to make that happen. The process was so onerous that it created enormous stress in our household. 

Just saw a video of a couple in their 50s who left their Oregon home to move to Portugal. They were talking about their beautiful home in Oregon, visits to Seattle or Vancouver, yet finding they were bored and malcontent, and wanted to redo their lives. Not me. I have been happy here in Florida, content to pursue my books, my writing, my piano until the day I died. It is not discontent that's motivating me; I still don't know what is motivating me to move. Yet I am moving. 

This journey has taken on a life of its own.