I foolishly, but honestly, confided in my wife while vacationing in Amsterdam recently.
I told her that if — and when — I have my nervous breakdown, or mid-life crisis, or whatever, that this would be where she could find me… Amsterdam. It was honest in that I believe it actually would be true, if I were to have a midlife crisis of some sort, that I would pack a bag, get on a flight bound for Amsterdam, and hunker down (for as long as necessary). I realized almost instantly that telling her was also foolish, at least rather somewhat. It is not as though she objected to my statement — she mostly understood why I would choose Amsterdam — but I am now a bit worried that my future hiding place (if that is what you would call the place you run to in a crisis; a swimming hole) is not a secret anymore. It is known. Maybe that is for the best however. At least she’ll know where I am.
That is what I have to say about Amsterdam.