Chasing Dreams: Deb’s Journey to Greece
For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of going to Greece. I pictured myself wandering through the ancient ruins of Athens, watching the sun set over the stunning cliffs of Santorini, their whitewashed walls glowing in the evening light. It was a beautiful vision, and it kept me going through the tough times in life. Greece was my escape, my reward for all the years of hard work and sacrifice.
But as my husband Dan talked more about his debt, I realized if I wanted this dream to become a reality, I needed to save more money. I was a private chef, juggling two families every week, but I also started baking custom cakes and desserts to earn some extra cash.
One evening, when I was too tired to cook, I ordered pizza for dinner. “Why are you overdoing it at work, Deb?” Dan asked, looking at me with concern.
“Because I want to save money, Dan. I want to get us to Greece,” I replied.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Deborah! When will you stop talking about Greece?” he grumbled, clearly annoyed.
“I’ll stop when I go. Don’t you want to come with me?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
He softened a little and poured me a glass of wine. “Of course, darling,” he said, “I’m just stressed at work. Being a math teacher to kids who don’t want to learn is really hard.”
“It’s okay,” I replied, unsure if he was being genuine.
“I promise you, Deb, I’m all for it,” he added, and I thought we’d be working toward this dream together.
But every time I brought up Greece, Dan would respond with a quick, “Next year.” Yet every time “next year” arrived, he had an excuse ready. “Work is too busy, Deb,” he’d say. “I can’t take time off right now.” Or, “The geyser is broken, and the dishwasher is on its way out. We need to prioritize that before thinking about a holiday.”
I told myself it was okay. We’d go eventually, right? People always put things off for a while and then enjoy them when life calmed down. But life never really settled down. Years flew by with no mention of the trip. By the time I turned 65, I had saved enough for both of us, and it wasn’t a small amount—I could afford business-class tickets and 5-star hotels!
I decided I wasn’t waiting anymore. I planned everything: a two-week dream vacation to Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos, the very places I’d only seen in travel magazines. I even bought myself a new swimsuit, something I hadn’t done in years. I wanted to feel good and alive and finally enjoy the life I’d worked so hard to build.
So, one evening, I made Dan his favorite lamb chops and roasted potatoes to help sweeten the deal.
“Dan,” I began, excitement bubbling in my chest, “I’ve saved enough. Let’s go to Greece for my 65th birthday.”
He looked up from his phone, fork halfway to his mouth, and let out a sharp laugh. “Greece? Deb, really? At your age?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I froze, feeling a wave of confusion wash over me.
Dan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head like I’d lost my mind. “I mean, come on, Greece? You’re too old for that now, aren’t you? What are you going to do there? Walk around in that silly swimsuit you bought? No one wants to see that. You don’t want to be parading around in front of a bunch of young people.”
His words stung. How could the man I’d been married to for decades say something so hurtful?
“I’ve been saving for this trip for years, Dan. We’ve always talked about going together. I want to enjoy it with you!”
He shrugged, unimpressed. “Yeah, well, maybe you should set your sights on something more… reasonable. How about a cabin somewhere nice and quiet? You could sit and read. Greece is for people half our age. You’re not twenty anymore.”
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to respond. “This is my dream, Dan,” I said firmly.
His expression hardened, and he threw his half-eaten lamb chop onto his plate. “Your dream is a waste of time and money, Deb. Speaking of which, why don’t you give me that money you’ve saved? I’ve been thinking about a fishing trip with the guys. That’s a much better use of the money. You don’t need to blow it on some ridiculous fantasy.”
That’s when something inside me snapped. All those years, I had waited for him. I had put off my happiness, my freedom, my dream, because I thought we were in this together. It was supposed to be Dan and me forever, discovering Greece as a couple. But the truth was, he didn’t care about my dream.
I stood up, pushing my chair back with force. “I’m going to Greece, Dan,” I declared.
“Sure you are,” he scoffed.
The next morning, while Dan was out, I did something I had never had the courage to do before. I booked the trip for the next day—two weeks in Greece. No hesitation. No checking with Dan. It was just about me and what I wanted.
I packed my bags, grabbed a pen, and left a note on the kitchen counter.
“Dan, you’re right. I am too old. Too old to keep waiting for someone who doesn’t care about my happiness. Enjoy your fishing trip; you’ll have to pay for it yourself.”
Then I left. I didn’t know what would happen next, and honestly, I didn’t care. I just knew that if I stayed, I’d never forgive myself, and I would start to despise Dan.
When I stepped off the plane in Athens, I felt something shift within me. The air was different—lighter and warmer. I wasn’t waiting anymore. I walked through the ancient ruins, feeling the history wash over me like a wave. I stood on a cliff in Santorini, and for the first time in years, I felt free.
And of course, I wore the swimsuit I bought. And you know what? I felt beautiful in it. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was living my life. Finally.
Then something magical happened. One lovely night in Santorini, I met Michael. He was sitting alone in a café, a kind smile on his face as he gazed out at the water. We struck up a conversation, and before I knew it, we were sharing dinner, talking for hours about our lives.
“A personal chef?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s impressive.”
“I love using my hands,” I replied. “And there’s an intimacy to cooking that I adore.”
We spent the rest of my trip together, exploring islands, sipping cocktails, laughing over meals, and enjoying the kind of connection I hadn’t realized I was missing. Michael saw me—really saw me—not as someone who was “too old” or past my prime, but as a woman who wanted to live life fully. Greece was everything I wanted and needed, and more.
When I finally returned home, Dan was gone. He’d packed up and left. But he left a note telling me he had moved in with his brother.
Instead of feeling lost or abandoned, I felt relief. I was free. Now, months later, I’m still in touch with Michael, waiting to see what happens next.
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