Isn’t There Sangria in Idaho?

I really wasn’t ready to discuss the details of this nomad plan of hers, let along agree to it. Yet there she was, still trying to sell me…

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy sitting at a sidewalk café with me, drinking sangria and people watching.”

“In Idaho? The cost of living is much less there.”

She pretended not to hear that. I’d thought about moving there when the real estate market flat-lined and our appraisal business began slowing down. I considered of a lot of options – including getting my resume back out there and finding a job, but after the freedom of running my own small business, the idea of going back to that soul-sucking corporate environment sounded as appealing as checking into a death camp.

“After a year there, we might decide we like it so much we want to stay,” she continued. “You could get a job over there –  lots of Americans do it.”

“Right”

“You could cook at an outdoor café in Greece, or lead English-speaking tours in Berlin. No more stress.”

All I heard was “no more stress.”

“We could spend weekends exploring castles with the kids. Wouldn’t it be nice to enjoy your Sundays without worrying about Monday?”

“Ah…Errr…”

“Jeffery, during my time in Europe, I could see my life so clearly. I’d dream and set goals. Now life has become so complicated. I can’t do any of that.” She went on about the kids growing up so fast, and how we needed to grab life by the horns and enjoy this precious time with them.

I stood up and walked across the arbor and stared at the ever dampening green lawn. All these obligations had certainly mounted up, and I wanted a change, but to sell everything we owned and move our kids to Europe just didn’t seem like the best answer.

I spun around and faced her. “Give me three months, I’ll turn things around.”

She returned a look of skepticism and that’s when I pitched her my big idea – I’d make money as a television cooking show host.

NEXT: The Next Food Network Star

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