Member-only story
Mexico on the mind
Planning my escape
I spent the last five years fantasizing about moving to Italy when I made my break — when I left the corporate world, that is. Italy seemed perfect: Beautiful, romantic, with tasty food, art galore, and the rest of Europe at its feet, accessible by brief and affordable train rides. Not to mention, I’m an EU citizen, which means I can take advantage of the healthcare benefits immediately — something North Americans can’t do until they are 65. In other words, I wouldn’t have to pay COBRA (or whatever has taken loathsome COBRA’s place) thousands of dollars to remain insured. This is a big deal.
The idea of retiring next year, at 55, is tantalizing, and not completely impossible. I don’t expect I’ll actually “retire.” I’ll work freelance, or for companies that allow me to work remotely, as I wish. But, I’ve been afraid to make a move, to put a stick in the ground, as they say. I’m afraid to commit. It’s darn scary, especially when the economy is veering so wildly. Without knowing one’s death date, it’s an impossible equation to figure out if you have enough money to “retire,” or at least to buy a modicum of freedom after a lifetime of relentless work. Heck, I’ve been working since I was in eighth grade — since I was 13 years old. I want to own my time for a while before old age and infirmity set in.
