A.K.A. Why We Moved From Colorado to Florida
On paper, moving to Colorado for retirement made a lot of sense. We’d lived there before and knew we liked it. We had friends who had retired from the military there. We had actual and potential job opportunities there. We could purchase acreage and grow some of our own food and raise some of our own livestock (chickens/ducks/a pig/maybe sheep).
So, after 9 months of looking, when we found the right Colorado house we bought it. We had five acres with amazing mountain views. Plenty of trees, but still some open land for a garden and a green house and some livestock. Country peace and quiet with easy access to town amenities. We were excited for all the things we would do.
And then I proceeded to get more ill than I’d ever been in my life. Orders of magnitude worse than when I’d “only” had chronic intractable migraines. I struggled to hold on to my goal of finishing my degree, and fought to get a diagnosis and a cure, but to no avail. Despite building a team of competent medical specialists in Colorado, I continued to get more ill and disabled. I often spent days or weeks on one story of our house because I didn’t have the energy or the knee capacity to go up and down the stairs. The scope of my life got smaller and smaller until I mostly lived in one room, leaving the house only to go to medical appointments. Spousal Unit handled all other interactions with the outside world.
When I finally realized that I might never find a cure, that I might never be restored to better health, I realized I might have to surrender not only my dreams of completing my degree and starting a new career, but also our dream of living in the Rockies. As I struggled to come to grips with my new reality, I eventually asked myself this key question:
Assuming my health will never improve, how do I want to live what remains of my life?
Crew Dog, One Sick Vet
I had been hung up on searching for a health cure; on finding a way to power through my dissertation and to complete my PhD; on fulfilling everyone’s expectations; on living up to my potential; on continuing to take care of others; on continuing to live a life of service.
But when I thought about accepting that my health had permanently changed, that, therefore, my life had permanently changed, it enabled me to consider possibilities.
I could continue to exist in limbo, frustrated that I was unable to complete my degree and pursue the career I had intended, or I could finally pry my bloody fingers loose from holding on to the end of my rope and get on with living my new life, my new normal.
It took *years* to relinquish those dreams and to accept that I was not going to be able to achieve those goals.
But when I started to consider other possibilities, when I started to consider accepting my limitations, I found freedom. Don’t get me wrong – the process of arriving at this destination was agonizing and included times when I didn’t see the point of continuing to live.
But I eventually discovered that accepting my limitations gave me permission to say no to other people’s expectations.
And once I stopped thinking I had to do what I thought I was supposed to do, I could start considering what I really wanted to do.
Eventually, I decided that I needed to leave Colorado to have any hope of improving my health. So we starting thinking about what we would want/need in a hypothetical new retirement location.
My joints hurt in Colorado, especially during the cold months. So I thought it’d be good if this hypothetical place was warmer. And my health seemed to improve when I was at lower altitudes, so this hypothetical place should probably be at a much lower altitude.
I asked myself what I would want my life to look like if all I could do was lie in bed all day. And I decided it would be pretty amazing if I could look out my window and see water. I asked myself what kind of outdoor exercise I’d like to do if I were capable of doing any. And I thought I’d like to walk on the beach, or walk/float in the water, or swim if I could. And I’d really love it if I could scuba dive again.
Spousal Unit & I weighed possibilities. And then we moved to a place that made far less sense on paper than Colorado. We’d never lived there. We did not have friends there. We did not have actual or potential job opportunities there. We couldn’t afford acreage there. And I would be starting all over building a new team of medical providers, leaving behind the really good team of providers I had slowly and carefully built in Colorado.
But this excellent team of Colorado healthcare providers had been unable to diagnose or cure me. The orthopedic surgeon had repaired my injuries and removed the associated pain. The rest of my team had provided the best care they knew. But my quality of life was continuing to diminish. I only left the house for doctor’s appointments, and I spent days afterward recovering. I had reached the point where I did not think I would survive another winter in Colorado.
So we sold our forever home in the dream location in the Colorado Rockies, and started all over again – in Florida.
It hasn’t been easy, and I can talk about that in another post. But I wanted to acknowledge that not everyone can afford to take such radical action, even if their lives depend on it.
Spousal Unit & I had the resources to be able to afford to start over again somewhere new. So many chronically ill/disabled people do not. We could talk in the comments about intersectionality, and the many ways in which I was disadvantaged in my youth, and the few ways in which I was not. But I readily admit that I was incredibly fortunate that Spousal Unit & I had already laid the groundwork for financial security before I became chronically ill/disabled. We are privileged that we had good health in our youth, adolescence, and young adulthood, and were able to attend and graduate college and get well-paying jobs. We were able to build a strong financial foundation. We were able to secure a military pension. Without this foundation, we would not have been able to move to our new location.
We’ve been here less than a year, but I already feel confident stating that my health is better in Florida. I still have a few days when I don’t get out of bed. I still have a lot of days when I don’t leave the house. But I rarely need the medications I was using almost daily for joint pain in Colorado. And I actually have energy some days. I’ve gone kayaking a few times (and spent days afterward recovering). And I’ve started scuba diving again.
Having the ability to leave a location where I had very low quality of life and move to a location where I have much better quality of life – to me, that’s what financial security is all about.
Crew Dog, One Sick Vet
Whether you call it FIRE, financial independence, financial freedom, financial security, enough, early retirement, or whatever: working hard, spending less than we earned, learning about investments, and saving for the future enabled us to leverage our health privilege in our youth to provide for ourselves when we were older and had lost that health privilege.
People who are born with congenital conditions or who develop chronic illnesses or become disabled before they have these opportunities do not have this health privilege. I cannot speak to their experiences, although I can acknowledge them.
What I can say is this: If you are considering learning about personal finance, if you are interested in developing financial security, add to your possible list of motivations the consideration that health is possibly the greatest privilege of all, and it may not last as long as you had hoped it would. People like to think it couldn’t/wouldn’t happen to them – until it does.
At best, we are temporarily abled – eventually our capacities will degrade. Being fiscally fit will help you prepare for when you are no longer physically fit.
Crew Dog, One Sick Vet
Have you had setbacks on your road to financial security? Have you made plans and then been thrown a curveball? Have you never had health privilege? How have you adapted? We’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments.
