Mine is the story of an everyday life that is about to take a turn toward the extraordinary.

Within days, I will board an airplane from the U.S. bound for Ireland, a place I will soon call home. I know few people there. I haven’t traveled frequently to the “ould sod” like so many who know its nooks and crannies. I don’t have a lot of money and never have. I am long divorced, recently retired, fortunate to be strong, healthy and wiser than ever before. I think I know myself, and yet I know the person who has lived an everyday life. What joys and challenges lurk inside that I’ve yet to discover?

              This is a dream realized. I have put my American life in storage, keeping only those things that are either essential or that, Marie Kondo-like, bring me joy. I intend to move to the west coast of Ireland, not too far from Galway, find a modest place to rent and settle in. I will live not far from my own ancestral roots – the village of Clougher in County Tyrone – and can’t wait to explore them. Like many second- and third-generation Americans, my mongrel DNA also can be found in France, Germany and Austria. And so I plan to make forays to continental Europe. Portugal awaits, as does Greece. I long to visit the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, stay in a tiny Italian village, lounge on a beach in Croatia, explore Norwegian fjords.

              But it is Ireland, more than any other place, that calls to me. What will it be like to have in my life those friendly and engaging people, to walk among its craggy hills strewn with ancient cairns, to listen unbound by time constraints to its music, in turn lively and haunting, which has always soothed my soul? It is a country almost beyond reckoning to me, a place where quite literally fairy tales can come true.

This was not a decision quickly or easily reached. For me, the turning point came when I changed my thinking from, “I can’t possibly” to “maybe.” Maybe this could work. From that maybe, all things flowed. Preparation was, of course, paramount. I took deep internet dives on almost a daily basis, joined a few key travel organizations, became a member of private social media  groups (many geared toward solo women travelers), read anything I could get my hands on and took some online courses – some free, some charging a nominal fee. Of course, I’ve accomplished all of this from the comfort of my home. I’ve yet to live any of it. I know that no matter how well prepared I am, the unexpected will present itself.

              Take, for pertinent instance, COVID-19. My initial plan was to leave in early April, precisely at the height of the first pandemic spread here in the US. I canceled my flight and put my life on hold these past several months. I’ve largely been a hermit, not unlike every other person in the world, doing my part to “flatten the curve.” I do not take this virus cavalierly, not a bit. At 68, despite my great health and strength, I dare not. It would be easy to decide to stay – to unpack the stuff in storage, to put the funds painstakingly set aside for this move back into circulation here in America, to put off this move until the vaccine is created and my financial situation is more secure. I am choosing instead to go, to take the chance now. Does this decision add uncertainty to the venture? You bet. But I do this with eyes open and heart full. To quote 19^th century Irish playwright and folklorist Lady Augusta Gregory, “I felt more and more the time wasted that was not spent in Ireland.”

              I’d love for you to join me on this uncharted adventure. Along the way, we’ll share a meal or two together, visit out-of-the-way places, meet some interesting characters, explore some history, and maybe raise a glass or two. I will also share with you any tips I’ve learned to make foreign living and foreign travel easier. This is particularly true for you elder women who, like me, yearn to breathe free. You might as well learn from what I’m sure will be my numerous mistakes, as well as from what I hope will be my triumphs.