On Emigration Anxieties: The Human Math

26 Feb, 2026

What if I regret moving to the UK?

This question feels especially pointed when you consider current geopolitics, but even aside from that: will I regret it? Will I dislike it? Am I romanticizing the whole thing despite trying my best to be realistic? Of course I fear those things, and that’s all just part of the anxiety.

I’ll get back to the practical stuff in future posts—the material things and the precipitously dropping income—but for now, I want to touch on the human element. I am not old, but I am also not young. My parents, while not "very old" yet, are still aging their way toward it. And while I don’t have as close a relationship with my immediate family as some might want, there is still the very real reality of the mortality of life.

Putting it another way: I currently see my parents in person once every year, maybe every two years, and sometimes a third year passes. That is part of growing up. I cannot stay in the same city or even the same state as them. I am my own person, building my own life with my wife.

But when you take a moment to pull on that thread, you’re reminded of what that actually means. If your life looks like mine, you have to contend with the fact that you may only see your parents five or six more times while they still have all their faculties. Then, even fewer times while they are going through the difficulties of advanced aging.

What if they are in the throes of dementia in their later years and you only saw them in person a handful of times before they stepped into that hellish phase of life? At the rate I see my own parents, that could very well be my reality. It’s a heavy feeling, but as cruel as it is, that is life.

But I also want to live my own life. I am lucky to have two siblings who are seemingly rooting down near my parents. They won't be alone. But I also don’t want to be one of those people who says, "I’ll move when my parents die." Our parents, if we’re lucky, often die when we are also old. Does that mean I have to put my own life on hold until then? What a sad thought. To only move on when they do.

I want to build a life with my wife abroad, should it work and we stay. I want to experience life while I am still young and able-bodied. All too often people enter retirement and then shortly thereafter face their own major health concerns, or maybe their partner gets Parkinson's or dementia. You work your whole life to enjoy your "golden years" with your person only to live them out caring for them or being cared for. I reject that.

And as jarring as it may be to be aware of my parents aging precipitously due to the infrequent visits, it is almost as if I am jumping through time years at a time. Because I am. Each new visit I may notice a more gaunt face, looser skin, thinning hair, or a new darker spot on their arm.

But I want to age with my wife, should I be so lucky, and have it be imperceptible. I want to not even notice the graying hair, the new wrinkles, or the new darker spots on my own flesh or my wife's. It happens in real time. It is just us aging together and I want that for us, wherever we may be.

It all feels a bit silly writing this, too. Millions of people immigrate every year, and they have been doing it forever. Often, they are moving from one country to another in search of a much better life, but there is always a sacrifice that remains invisible to everyone but them. Whether they are gaining safety, wealth, or opportunity, something or someone is always being left behind.

We are lucky in that we do not have to move; we want to. For many, it isn't a choice made out of desire, but a necessity for survival. We are fortunate that we even have the luxury to sit here and weigh these heavy feelings. But whether you move because you have to or because you want to, the math of the time left with those you love remains the same. It is an invisible price we all pay to build a life we want somewhere else.

#emigration