This is the year, a dozen years ago, when we could have escaped.
It is so easy to see now, in hindsight, that this was the year to make our getaway, before our children started school, before the market crashed, before you planted crape myrtles and lilies and the Japanese maple.
We could have escaped the falling trees and car accident and disappointments that would leave us hanging. The tedium of working and living and juggling it all in a place we didn’t choose.
This was the year we could have left, but didn’t.