A Dream Deferred
For as long as I can remember, Greece has been my dream destination. I would often close my eyes and picture myself wandering through the ancient ruins of Athens, with the sun setting behind the stunning cliffs of Santorini, casting a golden glow over everything. It was such a beautiful vision that it kept me motivated through the daily grind—the endless sacrifices, the pressure at work. Greece was my escape, my reward for years of hard work and holding everything together.
But as the years went by, Dan, my husband, started to talk more and more about our financial struggles. I realized that if I wanted to make my dream trip happen, I needed to save up. I was a private chef, juggling two families each week, and to earn extra money, I began taking personal orders for custom cakes and desserts.
One evening, after a particularly exhausting day, I was too tired to cook, so I ordered pizza. Dan looked at me, puzzled. “Why are you overdoing it at work, Deb?” he asked.
“Because I want to save money, Dan. I want to get us to Greece,” I replied, trying to keep my excitement alive.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Deborah. When will you stop talking about Greece?” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll stop when I go. Don’t you want to come with me?” I asked, hoping to spark his enthusiasm.
He softened a bit and poured me a glass of wine. “Of course, darling,” he said. “I’m just stressed out at work. Being a math teacher to kids who don’t want to learn is so difficult.”
“It’s okay,” I replied, trying to decide if he was being sincere or just dismissive. “I promise you, Deb, I’m all for it,” he reassured me.
But every time I brought up the trip, Dan would push it off. “Next year,” he’d say. Yet, when “next year” came around, there was always an excuse. “Work is too busy, Deb,” or “I can’t afford to take time off.” Sometimes, it was about repairs around the house: “The geyser is broken and the dishwasher is on its way out. We need to prioritize that before we think about a holiday.”
I convinced myself it was okay. Surely, we’d go eventually, right? That’s what people do—put off things for a while and enjoy them when life settles down. But life never did settle down. Instead, the years flew by, and by the time I was almost 65, I had saved enough for both of us to go. I was ready; I had enough for business-class tickets and five-star hotels!
So, one evening, I decided enough was enough. I planned everything—two weeks in Greece, exploring Athens, Santorini, and Mykonos, all the places I’d only ever seen in travel magazines. I even treated myself to a new swimsuit, something I hadn’t done in years. I wanted to feel alive, to finally enjoy the life I’d worked so hard to build.
That night, I cooked Dan his favorite lamb chops and roasted potatoes, hoping to sweeten the deal. “Dan,” I started, “I’ve saved enough. Let’s go to Greece for my 65th birthday.”
He looked up from his phone, fork poised in mid-air, and laughed sharply. “Greece? Deb, really? At your age?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I froze, feeling a sting from his words. He leaned back, shaking his head like I was a student who had lost her mind. “I mean, come on, Greece?” he continued, disbelief in his voice. “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 parade around in front of a bunch of young people.”
His words made my skin crawl. How could the man I’d been married to for decades say something so hurtful? I sat there, stunned. “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. “Yeah, well, maybe you should set your sights on something more… reasonable. Like a trip to a cabin or the beach, somewhere nice and quiet, where you can sit and read. Greece is for people half our age. You’re not twenty anymore.”
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to speak. “This is my dream, Dan,” I said firmly.
His expression hardened, and he flung 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.”
At that moment, something inside me snapped. All these years, I had waited for him, putting 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 he had never cared about my dream.
I stood up abruptly, pushing my chair back. “I’m going to Greece, Dan,” I declared.
“Sure you are,” he scoffed, dismissing me completely.
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 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 would never forgive myself. I would start to despise Dan.
As soon as I stepped off the plane in Athens, I felt a shift in myself. The air was different—lighter, warmer. I wasn’t waiting anymore. Walking through the ancient ruins, I felt history wash over me like a wave. Standing on a cliff in Santorini, I finally felt free. And of course, I wore the swimsuit I bought. You know what? I felt beautiful in it. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was finally living my life.
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 said, 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 the trip 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 her prime, but as a woman ready to embrace life. Greece was everything I wanted and needed, and so much more.
When I finally returned home, Dan was gone. He had packed his things and left, but he left me a note saying 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, excited to see what happens next. I’ve learned that sometimes, you have to put yourself first and chase your dreams, no matter how old you are.
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