Step 1: Trust fall into the Universe

Three months ago, I wasn’t even thinking about quitting my job, selling my home, living out of a suitcase and leaving the country. It’s all happened rather fast! I will provide a quick recap of how I got to the place I am now - but first things first. Who am I, anyways?

My name is Ella and I’m a 53-year-old, divorced, mother of two young adult children - the youngest just out of college. I have worked at the same healthcare research Institute since I was 20 years old. A colleague used to joke that I was “born in a cube on the 16th floor”. I really did grow up there. My wonderful work-family encouraged me through community college and the UW; threw my only bridal shower and my only wedding shower; mentored and challenged me; and supported me through a crisis involving my daughter, my father’s heart surgeries, a painful divorce, and most recently - treatments for invasive breast cancer.

Unfortunately, healthcare research is dying under the new administration. We’ve had waves of layoffs as new and renewed grants barely trickle in. As a manager, it has been incredibly hard to see good people let go. I see changes coming to NIH that could easily erode the fundamentals of peer reviewed research in the United States. But I shouldn’t get started on that rant… Let’s just say, I’ve lost faith in the system, and it is time for a change.

The emotional journey to where I am now started even earlier, with a personal cancer journey. I had found a lump in my breast in 2022 and thought it was a cyst. I’d had one in my 20s and the nurse said if it’s ‘small and round and moves around’ it’s just a cyst. I remember feeling kind of embarrassed that I didn’t know that at the time. So, imagine my surprise in 2023 when I rechecked that lump - and my lump had a lump! Oh, shit!

They got me right in for a mammogram and did an ultrasound of my left breast immediately afterwards. Before I left the clinic that day, I was told to prepare myself for a cancer diagnosis. They were right. I had a lumpectomy and lymph node dissection, with a second surgery to remove more lymph nodes. Some of my lymph nodes had grown ‘octopus arms’ from the cancer. Extranodal extensions they called them. Surgeries were followed by 6 months of aggressive chemotherapy, then 30+ radiation treatments. The chemo really took it out of me. It also wiped out my thyroid function, gave me some peripheral neuropathy, and made every hair on my body fall out. Seriously, even my nose hairs.

I’ve never felt 100% myself again since treatments. I think it aged my brain. Or maybe it’s the anti-cancer meds, or the medically induced menopause. What I do know is I am forgetful, I can’t think of words, I am easily distracted, I can’t remember what I just walked into a room for. That sort of thing.

And how have I not yet mentioned Matt? Matt and I met on a dating app that targets 50+ adults too frugal to pay for an eHarmony subscription. Matt is entirely lovable - plus smart, confident, musically and artistically talented, hilariously funny, wise and kind - and did I mention sexy? I had to tell him 3 weeks after we met in person for the first time that I had cancer. I fully expected him to bolt and even told him I’d totally get it if he did. I mean, that’s not what folks are looking for on a dating app. His response? “I think the universe put us together for a reason, so I think I’ll stick around”. He was an absolute rock through my cancer - through post-surgery infections with pus oozing out of my armpit, two bouts of CDiff while on chemo, and all my fears and tears - he was there for me. Not patting me on the head and telling me it would be OK but just holding me and acknowledging how much it sucked. Matt and my dear friend MaryAnne were my steady bright spots and champions throughout that entire journey and I’m forever grateful for it.

You certainly get perspective when you’re faced with a potentially fatal disease. My cancer has a greater than a 50% chance of coming back within five to ten years. Sitting at work and stressing about layoffs and the future of my industry when coupled with knowing that my cancer could come back has been a powerful motivator for something to change in my life.

So, when Matt suggested we slowly travel and deeply live abroad, my first question was “Are you serious?” He was. This is the thing I’ve dreamed about for years and never thought I would actually get to do. We chatted about the dream of it off and on all weekend. He was serious and I was, too. Fast forward to work the following Monday and a notice comes out that the manager group I belong to needs to be reduced somehow to cut costs. As soon as I saw the email, I called my finance guy and asked if I could really do this. He assured me I could as long as I keep my expenses to under $1,250 a month - or $15,000 a year. That income, especially with a partner contributing too, is totally doable in places like Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, and many Eastern European countries not to mention Ecuador, Colombia, and other South American nations. So I gave my notice that day and was on cloud 9. I called Matt and let him know what I had done. He was surprised, true… but supportive. I’m humbled to have him as my love and my partner.

That was 2 months ago. Now it is Tuesday, July 1 and my last day of work is this Thursday. My Port Orchard property closed yesterday, my essential possessions are in a 5' x 15' storage unit (or my car), and I’m living out of a suitcase while I float between friends, family and housesitting gigs. We leave the States on October 12 - much more about that to come!