99 Days ‘til Ecuador…..

There is a droning of a whispering melody, its repetitive tune subjugating my mind as I stare at a “Countdown to My Retirement” clock. It is a ridiculously dumb song that I fear, with the slight alteration Jan and I have composed, will dominate my brain for the next three months. I’m sure many of you, as I have, have sung this repetitive ditty while on long drives, ironically, to while away monotonous miles –

“99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall”.

Lifting my view from the numbers on the clock that have finally fallen below triple digits I find myself exploring a large drawing that hangs over Jan and my desks. We use this map of South America as a visual reminder of that place, Canoa, Ecuador, that when this cheap plastic timepiece displays the long awaited zero, we will at last call home.

I must admit I am a little embarrassed about the feelings of giddiness I’m experiencing these days. This tingling, caused by an admittedly romanticized anticipation, reminds me of how I felt when, over 41 years ago, I was counting down similar days before I was to become a husband to a beautiful and amazing young woman.

I shouldn’t be standing shiftless. There is so much to do – list our home – sell Jan’s car – my truck – our boat – furniture – dispersing four decades of mutually collected junk. Everything, except the massage table (A must-take item) has to be vigorously sold or given away and yet I can’t help but stand idle, staring, imagining, as my mind quietly sings:

99 days ‘til Ecuador

99 days to go

The clock turns ‘round, you count one down

98 days ‘til Ecuador

 98 days ‘til Ecuador

98 days to go

The clock turns ‘round, you count one down

97 days ‘til Ecuador…….

Clock-Watcher

Clock-Watcher

(198 days and counting down)

 

For as long as I can remember, I have been the type of man who loves to work. I wouldn’t go so far as to classify myself as a workaholic – I’m more like the casual drug user who only needs a work “fix” five to six days a week. And, don’t get me wrong. I love going on holiday as much as the next person, but when a vacation lasts longer than two weeks, I become fidgety, which is a sure signal that I need to get my butt home and back to my job!

 

I must confess though, that I have been corrupted by what must be a workplace’s worst nightmare – the dangerously infectious nature of a “short-timer’s attitude”. It doesn’t help that the photo on my computer’s desktop is a constant reminder of our future home currently under construction on the beach just south of Canoa, Ecuador. And to make matters worse, my wife purchased each of us a personal “countdown to retirement” clock. I only have to glance at it (which I now do habitually) to know exactly, to the second, when my wife and I will be able to deposit our winter clothes in the Goodwill bin and retire to a life of bathing suits, sandals and collecting seashells on the warm playas of South America.

 

Moments ago, I snuck a few minutes away from the doldrums of databases and spreadsheets in order to locate new batteries (the unstoppable energizer bunny type).  I inserted them into my clock as it seemed to me to be a little sluggish, but the seconds counting down to the big day still tick, as seconds do, with a metronome’s accuracy!

Mercury Rising

Mercury Rising

Setting a goal has never been my way of achieving one. It is not that I don’t arrive at my destination or desired result – I just accomplish it by the more exciting method of “winging it!”

My wife, however, is a planner, and to my bewilderment, finds security in establishing and sticking to a goal. Personally, I bristle at the concept, perceiving it more as setting a trap or robbing oneself of the adventure of figuring things out on the fly.

Back in October of 2011, shortly after deciding that living abroad was how we wished to start our retirement escapade, Jan posted above her desk a colorful thermometer chart. The graph laid out in $5000 laddered increments our goal of saving $200,000 by the end of 2014. This was the amount we concluded we would need to finance our move to South America, which included purchasing in full a home on the coast of Ecuador, furnishing it, paying for two trips there to set up our new beach home, setting aside enough money to carry our home here for a year if it doesn’t sell, and most importantly, buying the two surf boards I plan to use every day.

Sitting at my desk, I studied Jan’s new thermometer gauge which sported a thick pink line rising up the middle that ran out of ink at just above the $5,000 line. All I could see was a lot of discouraging white between the top of the pink mark and our desired final goal. Jan, on the other-hand, found sweet comfort in the fact that we had any pink at all. (I guess it’s the old adage “Is the glass half empty or half full?” But let’s be fair. That philosophical expression would be far more poignant if the pink was hovering at the $100,000 mark.)

It’s not that I don’t have my own charts to study and stay current with. Oh no! In truth, for the past 1 ½ years, with my head deeply buried in the sands of dream-filled, illusionary fancy, I have stared daily at a thermometer gauge that sits on my desktop showing Canoa’s current temperature and with longing, studied the surf reports.

I must confess I haven’t kept current with Jan’s single-minded savings chart. Honestly, how can I be faulted for not paying proper attention to her monthly shading, her methodical coloring within the lines as she adds a little more height to her goal indicator when the Ecuadorean surf is regularly cresting at 3 to 6 feet every day?

But, one recent afternoon, as I sat at my desk daydreaming of lying in the salty, warm surf on my 7’6” swallow-tailed, custom-shaped surfboard, Jan shrieked with excitement startling me back to reality. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, she updated me on our financial goal. With only seven months remaining before the move to Ecuador becomes our retirement reality, the money mercury had crept up to a steamy $175,000, leaving just a small colorless gap at the top.

Oh how glorious it is to have my quixotic nature supported by a pragmatist.