In 2008, I quit my corporate job, sold off everything I owned and moved overseas with my husband Drew. Since then we've traveled around the world, started our careers over as creative types and nurtured our love of sleeping in late. Oh and we had a baby. Cole, our almost 2 year old has been traveling since he was four months old and probably knows more Thai than me (not that he brags).
Coming Home and the Two Month Rule
When I left for Central America, sans husband, I wasn’t sure how long I’d travel before I’d see him again. The longest we’d ever been apart was 2 weeks. Once. Most of the time, we’re together an absurdly large amount of time. We both work during the day in the same office. We’ve been known to go weeks if not months spending 90% of our time in the same physical space. There are plenty of couples that would loath this, but for us it works.
So needless to say, the idea of strapping on my backpack and heading to Central America solo was a little daunting.
I had no return flight, no set dates, I was just going to wing it and figure out when it felt “right”. That is, when I couldn’t stand being away from my husband any longer.
It came the last week in December. I was wrapping up my fourth week of Spanish classes, ready to move on to the next place, when I noticed myself preoccupied. I was constantly thinking about him. I would hop out of bed in the morning and check for a text from him. I’d check my phone all day long. Everyone at the school agreed, I was obsessed with my phone, taking it with me everywhere, writing texts during breaks, checking it under the table at meals.
I could handle traveling alone, but it started being clear that I wasn’t going to enjoy traveling if I was constantly sending my thoughts back home. So I booked a flight from Cancun to Boston. It was almost exactly 2 months from when I had left, and couldn’t come soon enough.
My husband and I dubbed it the Two Month Rule. The maximum amount of time we will ever consider being apart. After that point, Christine starts sending 20 texts a day and acts like a heartbroken teenager. It wasn’t pretty.
It is also the exact amount of time for our dogs to forget all of the rules and go feral.
So I spent the last 3 weeks in Vermont, in the cold and snow. I paced out my posts, so you won’t be hearing daily rants on Why Is Vermont So Cold, Exactly? and Wow My Husband is Awesome and Stuff. It’ll be like those three weeks never happened for you, the readers. But in summary, it was everything you hope a reunion will be plus a little bittersweet. This week, I’m back on the road, starting at Cancun and hitting everything that I can as I head south to find an apartment where the DH and dogs can join me.
Although I think the dogs have gotten used to their new Nordic life:
