It all finally hit me as we were running with our carry-ons through Logan. We were moving to Portugal. We were leaving the United States and most everyone we know and love.
We sold our home. We sold nearly all our belongings. We lived in a camper—the four of us, our two dogs, and the cat they love to chase—in our friend’s driveway, where it rained non-stop. We lived at a campground. We lived in our friend’s basement. We have euros in a Portuguese bank account and a lease on a 3-bedroom home waiting for us.
Kristy left her salaried job. We tried to sell our business and had that blow up one week before closing, one month before leaving… for Portugal.
Because right then, in that exact moment, I was running behind my family and two higher-ups from TAP towards the plane we just fought 2 days to board. And my stomach ripped open from the inside.
Facing The Gate Keeper
At least that’s how it felt. Suddenly sweat framed my face, my eyeballs became hot, chaos swarmed my senses—I’m still running. Holding these things, watching my people running ahead of me with the guys who came and saved the day only after I faced off against The Gate Keeper.
She was a 20-something with the unfathomable authority to prevent a family, their 2 crated dogs, their backpack cat, and 21 bags filled with the life that came before, from actually leaving the country. We had already jumped the enormous and numerous and obnoxious hurdles of attaining the Visas. We had attained the extremely time-sensitive approval to bring our animals into the country. Only to be stopped by the very thing we were fleeing: inhumanity.
Because our dog—the lightest of the two—was 3kg too heavy. Their scales were wrong and I proved it. She did not care. She did not offer a resolution or a path towards one. She simply looked into my eyes and said, “Go home.” She didn’t even care that we didn’t have one.
We checked into the nearest hotel for the night and on the 2nd day, I refused to leave the counter when The very same Gate Keeper again refused to let us board. She thanked me for refusing to leave and called security, who in turn called the Airline who then had to send the Higher-Ups down to handle the situation.
LEARNED LESSON: Despite my many requests that The Gate Keeper call her manager, it took security to make it happen. So, don’t be crass while doing so, but use that information as a resource should you run into your own Gate Keeper.
The Internal Lava
I’m running because we made it. We made it past The Gate Keeper! Which means—holy shit—we’re moving to Portugal!
PANIC. True panic seized every inch of me.
Ok, you’re feeling panic, I tell myself. Naming intense feelings helps to dissociate, ensuring I can keep running. Panic is not a new feeling, but it is an old feeling and never quite so gutting. There is nothing I can do to stop this and I don’t want to stop this, I continue.
I am afraid. That’s ok. That makes sense. I’m going to puke. I’m running. My eyes are hot.
I AM PETRIFIED. My body is carrying and running and taking corners and I am full of lava inside. My mind swells with the sound of my self wailing this guttural scream fueled by the thrashing pain and fear erupted and now coursing through my nervous system. I am exhausted, I am terrified, I am on fire, and I am in pain.
And then… I’m buckled. I’m sitting in a seat on a plane with my family and we’re moving to Portugal.
The Weighted Blanket Slips Off
Sitting there I think to myself, I made it. We made it! And the outwardly unrecognizable inner torture I’m experiencing subsides.
The knowledge that my family will no longer wake each day in a country still debating the concept of human rights pings my reward center. We did it. Like, we actually fucking moved our family to Portugal. That’s insane! But in the best way ever.
And with this, the weighted blanket of intolerance I had been carrying with me throughout most of my conscious existence slid off onto the floor, below us where it belongs.
Arrival (The Messy Kind)
I’d love to say that we landed and everything was easy and smooth and no one cried, but:
- The plane they put us on landed late and in Porto.
- We missed that flight but caught another.
- The dogs and our belongings all made it to Lisbon, but the van service didn’t send one big enough.
We had to wait… which was most unfortunate for the dogs and cat, who were reasonably traumatized by the whole misadventure, as were we all. But we were in Portugal and the sun was there to greet us, and the people of Portugal welcomed us into our new life abroad by not caring at all about who we love. As we stepped out of the van and into the Algarvian sun shining down onto our Algarvian home, we were just that: Home.