Panic attack. Moving to Mérida is still part of our three-year plan. It was part of our three-year plan three years ago, too. Funny how we’re still at our same Connecticut jobs, still caring for our parents, three years after our decision to head off calamity and build a house in the Centro.
For now the house is more of an investment property. We found tenants (or rather, they found us) who seem really great, and will keep our guppies company for the spring and summer. This has slowed our plans, which needed to happen. It gives us time to think through everything, and in the meantime property values in Connecticut have time to further improve before we finally sell our house.
So why the panic? I still don’t know a lick of the prevailing language. I aced Spanish I and II in high school, went through three levels of Rosetta Stone and one and-a-half on Fluenz. I took a $10 trial from Pimsleur and somehow found myself with a pile of CDs in fancy black boxes costing hundreds of dollars. I could have cancelled and gotten a refund, but I thought the packages were a sign from God telling me “¡Aprenda español!” Still, I seem to have hit a wall about a year ago when I was studying more.
Instead, I’ve been focusing my thoughts on entrepreneurism. Having been a paycheck-collector all my working life, I’m trying to re-orient my brain to money-making ideas. I even watch “Shark Tank” every Friday, yet somehow, entrepreneurial genius hasn’t flowered. I don’t have that gene.
So I’m sitting here thinking about how large our house became, another surprise despite fair warning from the architect and his floor plans, replete with measurements and statistics. But the house will be my entire world, a limestone cell, if I don’t feel confident to go out doors and converse with people. At this point, I can’t even make a phone call. I got a calling plan to call Mexico, but dialing 999 fills me with dread. On one of the few occasions I called our property manager’s 999 phone number, Paul had to rehearse me over and over to say “May I speak to Sylvia?” in Spanish. When I placed the call, I was so nervous, I barely got the phrase out, and the person on the other end replied in English, clearly on to me and my limitations.
I’m an early riser. If I get up past 5 a.m., the day feels lost. I’m not due in at work until 10, so I take that free time to blog, read other blogs and newspapers, bum around on Facebook, work on book projects, and pretty much putter. What I don’t do, but should, is take a long neighborhood walk in our eminently walkable neighborhood, move my body around in such a way that weight is lost and cardio is improved, start on my own book project, and learn some freakin’ Spanish! I’ll do my blogging on my coffee break at work.
The change begins mañana.