Sometimes you can't write about something that's painful when it happens. It takes a bit of distance to get perspective and to let the raw emotions fade a bit.
I didn't write about my plans with the Green-Eyed Dutchman (GED) before now because I was still working it all out in my head. Basically, we discussed that if we were going to give this relationship a try, we would need to live in the same country. And since he has two daughters from a previous marriage in the Netherlands, it was obvious that it would be me that would need to move.
I looked into the options. While he lives in Barcelona now, my Spanish is minimal at best, and the economic recession has hit Spain hard. There was no way I could find a job as an English-only speaker. However, I could find work speaking only English in the Netherlands. GED had been thinking of moving back anyway, so we looked at Amsterdam.
It was an exciting and frightening idea. On the one hand, I'd be leaving my country and culture, far away from most of my family (closer to those relatives in the UK). But I rationalized that moving to NYC from Dallas had been a huge culture shock, too, and perhaps this experience had prepared me for this next adventure.
Long-distance relationships suck, even in the best circumstances. So while GED and I talked and emailed frequently after his visit, the contact began to wane sharply mid-June. Meanwhile, my doubts grew. We finally spoke (after three weeks of no replies to my emails and continued missed calls by both sides), and I wasn't reassured. I told him the risk doesn't seem worth it to me now, and although he says he still loves me, I need more than that...like emotional security and stability. And he's just not able to give me that. Not now, at least.
I told him to go his way and I'll go mine. It was hard to give up on the dream, it felt like I was so close to getting what I wanted, but then it all fell apart like a paper house in the wind. Of course, better to know this now than if I had packed up and moved.