Sometimes what appears to be a blessing can turn out to be a curse.
At least that's how I felt when faced with a momentous decision that my accommodating husband willingly left in my somewhat shaky hands.
I had lived in North Carolina for almost 15 years, and my husband had lived here almost 25, when we were unexpectedly faced with the opportunity to move to a large city close to the beach. I grew up in Chicago and still missed the urban atmosphere. My husband grew up in a small N.Y. coastal village and still missed the water.
It seemed like an easy choice to make, except that it wasn't.
Not only was I evaluating our future prospects just days after my father's death, which made the idea of any dramatic change terrifying to me, but I was engaged in the process not just for myself, but for my husband and my son, with little input from them other than, "I love you and I'll do whatever you want," and "Disneyland's an hour away, let's go!"
After two visits and tremendous trepidation, I finally decided that finding a new school for my son and a new home and community for my family was too overwhelming while the foundation shifted under my feet. I decided that rather than move immediately, we would stay put until I felt ready to choose a life that felt like it would include some comfort along with new challenges.
And then I was given the gift of time. After unwrapping and savoring it, I realized that standing still was not the solution. I was able to make lists of the pros and cons, gather more information about our options, and eventually reach a second level-headed conclusion: accepting this new job and moving would be ideal for us as long as we could do it on our timetable. I was fortunate to have a future employer who agreed.
Nevertheless, we are in for some frightening moments -- the final hugs from friends who have nurtured and supported us, some for decades; saying goodbye to the home that has trails of our memories embedded in the pine floors; crossing the state line for the last time as a resident and settling in new territory.
This process has reminded me of an essay by Joan Didion that I discovered as a high school student. She was writing about self-respect and described a scene from the old West that exemplified how a self-assured family reacted to its home being invaded by American Indians. She said that people with self-respect go into a situation with their eyes wide open, knowing that Indians (as she referred to them) are a given. In one form or another, she says, they always are.
I have no doubt she is right. And there will, no doubt, be many tear-filled transitions: the first day of school, the first weekend without plans, the first failure that finds me flopping around emotionally because my safety net is gone. But I know I'll create a new safety net, a new life with new plans for myself and my family, a new beginning, because the most important things we take with us will not be packed in the boxes the movers will bring. They are inside us, and they go wherever we do.
This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.
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