Am I Moving to Ireland?
An American considers what it would mean to leave his country
There’s a house available in County Leitrim, Ireland. I’m sure there are others. This one sits on nearly 2-acres of meadowlands in the countryside. There are meadows. And it’s not being sold in the traditional way. In fact, the house is not being sold at all. Instead, the house is a raffle prize. Yes, a raffle, like the one at the county fair or the church picnic. I read and researched more about it, about Sligo, and the woman who currently owns it.
I bought five tickets.
“Where is it again?” my wife asked after I had announced that we may soon be homeowners in Ireland.
“Near Sligo. Northwest. Coastal,” I answered and showed her a photo.
“Oh, and there’s a garden?” she asked, smiling. “Think what wonderful new things I could plant there.”
I laughed. “Let’s win it first.”
The drawing was in two days.
* * *
Not long after buying the raffle tickets online, I wondered for a moment: Why did I jump so quickly on a ridiculously remote chance of winning? I clicked the link to the website for tickets even before I finished reading the New York Times article about the house. I rarely play the lottery. Why is there such appeal on such an improbability?
There have been days over recent years that my wife and I have talked about moving internationally. Watching the brusque demolition of American values, the sense of crumbling order, the mind-boggling ignorance of leaders, the hurtful and disdainful polices aimed at the most vulnerable, the Constitution shaken, the absurd talk of turning a nation’s immigration policy into The Hunger Games, one can undoubtedly wonder how much one can take. There have been dozens of news stories about disgusted Americans departing, going to Canada, to Europe. We knew we were not alone in our thinking.
Admittedly, even if we could move, it would be a difficult decision. And the acknowledgement of the difficulty also proves how disheartened I’ve become with what’s happening in America. So, yes, we talked about what it might be like, how possible, how probable, the true realities of it all. Talked. Desired. Dreamed. There was that time I investigated Irish citizenship, thought of buying a used bookshop in Edinburgh, and researched into moving to Spain for a time. Still, it was never going to happen. Too many hurdles, financial decisions, Visas, local laws and restrictions on Americans moving to new lands. And family. Our families are in the U.S. Our adult children are all here. My wife’s parents are elderly. My granddaughter will soon be four years old.
Leaving may be a personal act of rebellion or at least resistance, but that’s a far different mindset than what “leaving” has always meant before—an act of adventure or respite. Still, I wonder, maybe this time leaving would be less of a revolt and more of a retreat. I’d be surrendering, would I not? I have friends who’ve said, “You can’t leave. If you do, they win.” I don’t see it that way. For me it’s a small act of civil disobedience, and that act—fueled through history by Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., David Henry Thoreau, and others—comes through the act of a single man, quiet and even unnoticed, but still one of defiance. Certainly, I am no Gandhi, no Thoreau. I’m just a regular guy who has never been as concerned and disheartened as I am today, watching democracy unravel and seeing so many of my fellow Americans shrug it all off as political maneuvering, not seeing that, as Yeats put it, “the centre will not hold.”
I also wonder, is it cowardice not to leave? America is not the greatest country in the world. Sorry. Americans like to think so, but the numbers don’t prove that out. Simply look at the statistics on education, studies of happiness, quality of life, healthcare. We rank below several other nations like Sweden, Norway, Finland, even Japan. What America is, however, is a country that holds enormous potential for good, a potential that is bigger and stronger than anywhere else. These days, however, we’ve let that slip away. The great experiment is now threatened by its own hubris, its chest-pumping vibrato led by people who believe only power matters, that bullying is a show of strength. At this moment in history, we are a country embracing ignorance.
Leaving America is unlikely. Instead, I’ll try to find pockets of hope—the graceful words of a new pope, a neighbor’s kindness, a walk with the dog, a great book, a Mary Oliver poem, a good melody, a good wine, a stroll through the trees, my granddaughter’s eyes. And come summer, when the raffle for the Irish home is held, I’ll hold my breath, and cross my fingers and toes. And should I win, I’ll discuss it with my wife, and we’ll revisit the idea of packing up and waving goodbye. Maybe a new start in the Irish countryside, even a temporary one—as unlikely as it may be—would be the right prescription, the salve for the festering wound. Or, maybe, it would be another way of leaning into what remains of this nation’s promise, a carrot leading me to a renewed belief that America can rediscover its magical balance, benevolence, and its heart.
* * *
Forty-eight hours after buying my tickets, holding them tightly in a file on my phone, I receive an early morning email.
The draw for the stunning home on 1.75 acres near Sligo, Ireland has been made! Find out if you’re a winner!
Am I a homeowner in Ireland?
For two days I’d thought long and hard about how I’d manage this. And now, as I’m opening the full email holding the raffle winner’s name, my mind twists and turns again.
Would we really go? When? What would we do with our dog? Bring her? How does that work? Is there internet service in this remote countryside home? We surely need Visas, and what about that Irish citizenship thing? I’ll need to buy a car there. Drive on the other side of the road. Did it once, must retrain my brain. Got to get used to kilometers again. America? America, can you give me a sign? The news this morning is just as rough as ever, the leaders just as corrupt and loathsome, the nation remains as upside down as the day I bought the tickets. America, can you offer me . . . something?
The Irish novelist Flann O’Brien once said, “When things go wrong, you’ll find they usually go on getting worse for some time; but when they start going right, they often go on getting better and better.”
I can only hope that holds true. Maybe that, in its own way, is what America is still about. Hope. The belief that we can do better. That’s what I’ll hold onto for now, because, you see, I’m not moving to Ireland, not this time. I didn’t win the raffle. A woman named Kathleen had the prize ticket and the sale is now officially “pending” until they work out all the details. But Kathleen’s going to take it. Certainly, she is. She’ll work in the garden, and she’ll sit by the fireplace with tea on a fine soft day, and she’ll head to Sligo for a Guinness or two on a Saturday night.
Godspeed, Kathleen. Invite us over sometime. We’d really like that.
David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His debut poetry collection, Garden Tools is due out in pre-sales in June and officially released this fall by Finishing Line Press. His novella, American Moon will be published by Regal House Publishing in 2026.
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If it had been a cottage in Scotland I’d have definitely bought tickets.
But when you wrote “Sligo”, there is a Sligo road about a Mile from my home. And I loved Edinburgh when I visited Scotland 2 1/2 years ago.
But could I move away? Canada would be closer, but I too would be torn.
I can feel more clearly though why people try to come here to get away from their repressive beloved homelands—before it’s too late.
My husband is a second generation Jew from Poland where his grandmother escaped to then brought herself and 5 children to the US to escape Nazi Germany.
Others of his extended family were not so fortunate.
I don’t think “the orange felon” himself is the new shitler, but the puppet masters pulling the strings of P-2025 would be more likely. Especially more so as T’s cheezy mind slips off its cracker and they hide all of his speeches and videos from being archived.
Loved your story.
It gives a lot of us pause on whether we would really leave, especially those with close ties to adult children and grands, or elderly parents.
"What America is, however, is a country that holds enormous potential for good, a potential that is bigger and stronger than anywhere else." This is what holds me here, my own small efforts of disobedience to be good. To be better than our administration but many days I wonder, why?