One YouTube Video Away From International Relocation

I accidentally turned curiosity into a research project.

I watch a lot of YouTube.

I once read—or perhaps heard in a YouTube video about human migration patterns narrated by a man who sounded suspiciously enthusiastic about bone fragments—that YouTube is more popular with men, while women tend toward Instagram or TikTok. I have no idea if this is true. What I do know is that I like YouTube better.

Maybe it’s because I can choose exactly what I want to watch. Maybe it’s because I can deep-dive into a 45-minute documentary about Neanderthal DNA, immediately followed by Qigong with a Tibetan monk, and then somehow end up learning the ten warning signs of magnesium deficiency without changing platforms.

YouTube does not judge. It simply nods and says, “Certainly. Since you watched ancient burial customs and gentle stretching exercises, perhaps you would also enjoy a documentary on Icelandic volcanoes and three videos about expatriate tax law.”

A couple of weeks ago, YouTube casually introduced me to Panama.

Not the spring-break version of Panama. Not beaches and tropical drinks with tiny umbrellas. No. This was Retirement Visa Panama.

Apparently, Panama has a visa for retirees that entitles the bearer to discounts on all manner of things. Restaurants. Hotels. Entertainment. Medical services. The country uses the U.S. dollar. The weather is remarkably consistent year-round. Medical care is reportedly excellent. The cost of living is dramatically lower than here.

And—drumroll, please—we can take the dogs.

This last point mattered.

The dogs are not pets in the traditional sense. They are our children with fur, selective hearing, and deeply unreasonable opinions about squirrels.

Now, for many people, watching a mildly intriguing YouTube video might lead to a brief thought.

Huh. Interesting.

I am not many people.

I investigated Panama with the same level of enthusiasm one might expect from a hog searching for truffles. To say I did “some research” would be like saying a skunk produces “some odor.”

I watched every video I could find.

I joined Facebook groups.

I researched neighborhoods despite never having set foot in the country.

I learned that grocery stores can be expensive, but local fruit and vegetable stands are cheaper. Imported American products cost more, which honestly might not be a bad thing considering how many questionable snacks find their way into my grocery cart.

I learned to check rentals carefully for mold before signing anything.

I looked at rental listings. Actual rental listings. I very nearly contacted agents with questions before realizing this would be unfair since we are still in the phase of “watching videos while sitting in Texas wearing pajama pants.”

Still, mentally? We had moved.

I had calculated expenses.

My husband had worked the numbers independently and arrived at roughly the same conclusion.

For around $3,500 a month, two people and two dogs could apparently live quite comfortably.

My husband even became enthusiastic at the prospect of living near a coffee farm. This is a man who takes coffee very seriously. The possibility of fresh coffee grown practically next door moved Panama from interesting idea to legitimate contender.

Then reality entered the chat.

Reality, as it often does, arrived carrying boxes.

The problem is not really the move itself.

The problem is the things.

Not the ordinary things. Nobody cares about the mismatched storage containers or the mystery cords living in a drawer that apparently belong to electronics we no longer own.

The problem is the heirlooms.

His great-grandmother’s stemware.

His grandmother’s china.

My grandmother’s teacup collection.

The pieces of family history that cannot simply be tossed into a donation pile because paradise has cheaper rent.

Shipping household goods to Panama is expensive enough that most people simply don’t do it. Rentals often come fully furnished—even down to the dishes.

This sounds wonderful until you realize it means confronting every object in your house and asking difficult emotional questions.

Do we keep this?

Store this?

Give this to family?

Why do we own fourteen blankets?

My husband, quite reasonably, finds the emotional toll of sorting through a lifetime of possessions daunting.

I, meanwhile, was mentally arranging patio furniture in the mountains.

And then, sometime around the middle of the night last night, came the thought that brought the entire operation screeching to a halt.

We had budgeted for visiting the U.S. twice a year.

What, exactly, are we doing with the dogs?

These are not dogs one casually drops off at “Happy Puppy Fun Camp and Occasional Barking.”

These are our dogs.

Our babies.

If we move to another country, I need trustworthy boarding. Exceptionally trustworthy boarding. The kind of boarding where someone sends me photographs and possibly reads bedtime stories.

So now, our international relocation plan appears to rest upon one very important question:

Can Panama provide excellent dog childcare?

Because if the answer is no, it turns out our grand international reinvention may be delayed indefinitely by one pit bull and one terrier mix who have absolutely no appreciation for retirement visas.