Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Change is a bit like having one's upper lip waxed.  It really only stings for a second. 

The fact remains, Hubby and I still don't know how we will earn our keep once we move to Boston.  And yet some optimistic, lavender scented part of me is certain we will find somewhere marvelous to work.  I'm aiming for lofty thoughts, hoping for a job I will adore rather than something that just pays the bills.  Sadly, my initial inclination was the latter, though I'm sure the fear of being broke again may have played a part in that. 

Speaking of which, I'm surprised to note how cushy our lives have become as of late.  We have good healthcare, 401-K's, even the cat has health insurance.  I'm ashamed to admit how much money we spend on taxis and dining out.  On paper at least, the decision to move home really becomes the riskier choice. 

And so it seems my future has morphed into something very much resembling a Mad Lib.  There are endless blanks to fill.  For the most part I'm finding it all pretty thrilling.  I have no idea what is going to happen, and I haven't been able to say that for a long time.

At first the neurotic in me wanted to frantically grasp on to rigid hopes and plans, but my voice of reason threw a glass of cold water into her tear-streaked face, so to speak.  I'm old enough now to realize that praying for a specific outcome is basically futile.  I have a wish list of how I'd like things to turn out, of course, but I'm in no way counting on it.  I realize this is faith in its blindest form, but it's sort of the way I've always done things.  My dreams are hopeful, roomy and flexible.  Naturally I feel a little scared and a touch wistful to leave behind the cozy life we've created here, but I know in my heart that new adventures lie ahead. 

As for Hubby, he'll be finishing up with his music degree, which is something he's been wanting to do for years.  Boston is not his home, it's mine, and I realize he is making the same sacrifice he did when I asked him to move to New York in the first place.  Over the past eight years, this city has truly become his home.  His decision to leave inspires me with a curious blend of relief, adoration and awe.  After all these years, I never run out of reasons to love him like a crazy person. 

I can hear him coming up the stairs now as I write.  He's whistling. 

Dear Reader, although I've been known to read a Tarot card or two, at the moment I know not what my future holds.  And it's all very exciting.  xoxo

   

Comments

[Weinerdog]

Are you sure you don't know what's going to happen?

I seem to remember someone who would read her cards until she got the answer she wanted.

Precisely why I no longer read for myself! I can't remember the last time I did. Let's face it, it just wasn't healthy.