‘I’ve got cold feet about our lifetime dream – I daren’t tell my husband’
We were in our late 20s when we first started planning our big adventure, and I actually started it. We had a huge mortgage, two sleepless toddlers, boring jobs and no prospect of anything changing any time soon, but we’d both cheer up as we danced around the living room clutching a giggling child each as we loudly sang along to the Specials: “You’re married with a kid when you should be having fun with me…”
One night, during a family sick bug that featured spectacular vomiting, I distracted us by suggesting that when the kids were grown up and gone, we’d sell up, take early retirement and go around the world. It was like a bedtime story we trotted out every time things got tough. It kept us going when my husband was made redundant and we were scared we might lose the house. Then he got a better job and it was like a prize waiting many years ahead, because it started to look as if we could actually eventually afford such a dream.
We were always good savers and as we earned more and the financial pressures eased a little, we had lovely family holidays, but we always overpaid the mortgage and pensions, even if just by tiny amounts. We were enjoying life, but we both knew we were planning something very special, a secret ambition that we kept to ourselves and took out from time to time to gloat over.
We always talked about it on holiday, usually while basking in the sun or enjoying pre-dinner drinks. We fantasised about having no timetable and not thinking about returning to work. Our list of destinations was constantly changing and we’d often send each other links to remote boutique hotels or round-the-world ticket options.
When my mum’s terminal illness coincided with our eldest having a major crisis of confidence over career options, life was so stressful that we could barely imagine a night out, never mind a year away. But times change, as they do, and I came to terms with the loss of my mum, while a good university choice set our son on the right path.
And now we’re both due to take early retirement, have done a clear-out of the home we’ve lived in for 20 years, got all our finances in order, aim to sell the house and hopefully be on the move by summer. A year’s world trip, all carefully planned – some of it roughing it, other parts luxurious and ticking every experience we’ve ever hungered for.
Except… I’ve now got cold feet and simply can’t share my worries as he’s so excited. Maybe I’m looking forward to some peace after all the turmoil. Maybe I’ve just lost my nerve. But I’d like just to hang onto our house for a bit and simply live in it, even if it’s too big for the two of us. Just for a while, at least.
Despite all the complex, exciting plans, I think now I’d happily settle for retirement, a long and lovely holiday and then back to life as we know it.
I’m not sure what’s brought this on, as we’ve looked forward to this for nearly 30 years and I’m starting to sound like a timid old lady rather than an extremely capable woman in my mid-50s. Next week, the estate agent is coming to photograph the house and put it on the market, so it’s time to confess my fears to my husband and see if we can come up with a compromise, or a delay. I’m not sure I can face that conversation, though.
Read last week's column: I’m fuming that my wife is fitter than ever while I’ve let myself go
