When Dave first brought up the idea of moving to Costa Rica, I’ll admit—I brushed it off. No matter how he framed it, I wasn’t going. I figured he’d drop it eventually. But then I noticed him spending hours poring over our finances, meeting with advisors, and reading book after book on healthy living, longevity, and retirement planning. Something had shifted.
He didn’t enjoy his job anymore and carried a constant weight of stress. After a few nasty falls on the ice, he began saying more and more how he wished we lived somewhere without snow—and how uncertain he felt about ever being able to retire.
Eventually, I started really listening.
What I had dismissed as a passing idea was actually rooted in something much deeper. Dave was genuinely worried that if we didn’t pay off our mortgage, we’d be working into our seventies. He didn’t want to just work to live—he wanted to start living. And I began to understand.
He was also thinking about our parents. After retiring, his mom and dad stayed home watching TV, never really enjoying the nest egg they’d built. That time was cut short when his mother’s health declined. My own mother passed away at just 72. These losses weighed on him—and on me.
At first, I thought a trip to Florida might satisfy his wanderlust. We went to “check it out,” just to see if it could be a place we’d consider. We both enjoyed it and agreed: if we ever left Colorado, Florida might be an option.
Then, during the Stanley Cup Finals—Tampa Bay Lightning vs. our beloved Colorado Avalanche—an old friend of Dave’s reached out. He lived near Tampa and wanted to reconnect. That call rekindled a friendship we hadn’t nurtured since our wedding, where he’d been a groomsman. (And yes, the Avs won—but that’s not the point.)
The following spring break, nearly a year later, we returned to Florida. Reuniting with old friends and wearing shorts in March—during one of Colorado’s snowiest months—was a revelation. I’ve always loved many things about Colorado, but snow in March, April, and even May? Not one of them. I was hooked. I finally saw what Dave saw.
That was late March. We agreed we’d move the following year, after school let out. But Dave was all in. Completely. Within two weeks, he had me convinced: we should move this year. He wanted the house on the market by June 1. He had it all mapped out: sell our Colorado home while the market was high, buy a place in Florida outright, and eliminate our mortgage. That move alone could bring retirement years closer.
The hardest part? Leaving our three adult children—two in Colorado, one in Wyoming—and our two grandchildren. The thought of being so far from them was painful. But when I looked into Dave’s eyes, I saw hope. I saw a man who needed this. The man God gave me. My partner of over three decades. He needed to see the finish line—and believe it was real.
And in that moment, I knew: he is my past, my present, and my future. Our kids would be okay. They’re grown, thriving, and finding their own way. It was time for us to do the same.
We were moving to Florida.
