Heading Out

An adventure.

That’s what I labeled the “Let’s move the family to Singapore” plan when Brad first presented it to me six months ago. And it still is… though I would be lying if I said it wasn’t laced with moments of “Wow, this is a much bigger pain in the a$$ than I thought it would be” and “Is it smart to turn our lives upside down and inside out on something of a whim, especially with a baby in tow?”

But as it turns out, that’s exactly how all great adventures begin; on something of a whim, filled with risks and sacrifices and blind corners, around which unknown things await. At some point, the pros vs. cons list must be put down and the adventure seekers must simply jump in—with both feet—only half-peeking out through tense and squinted eyes.

Rather than go into any detail on the six months of prep work that went into our move, I’ll simply list a few of the highlights and lowlights. Feel free to turn on some music as you read, to give it the true feel of a Hollywood movie montage. I have no song suggestions, as some of the angrier moments could be tuned to a Papa Roach or Linkin Park soundtrack, while more tear-jerking moments belong to the likes of Band of Horses and, specific to leaving my dog Roxy behind, “Friend Like You” by Joshua Radin. So here goes…

Skyscrapers of paperwork from before unknown government agencies… Endless immunizations for once unknown diseases that make my skin crawl to think about… Dealing with destructive hail storms two weeks before leaving… Selling off the material aspects of our life, some which come with many happy memories attached, like our boat and kayaks and house (especially the one small room at the top of the stairs that was painted with love, eagerness, and trembling anticipation)… Saying goodbye to the nonmaterial parts of our life, like family and friends, and begging their support and understanding… Hoping beyond hope that my faithful dog—who has a broader range of emotion than a lot of people I know—won’t think I abandoned her…

Okay, montage over, and onto the airport. Already exhausted as we ready ourselves for 32 hours of travel with a 15-month old, Brad and I hope for the best, realistically expect the worst, and once again jump in—the three of us holding hands as we head down the jet way, as a family must in times like these.

And as I lean back and listen to the sing-song safety chant of the flight attendants, I pull a map out of the seat pocket in front of me, open it up and say to Brad, “Now where exactly is Singapore?”