A few days ago I read this heart-wrenching article about the long-term unemployed who are homeless and living out of their cars in Santa Barbara.
One quote from a woman whose family had just recently gotten resettled into an apartment especially resonated with me: "For the first month after getting the place," she said, "I didn't want to go anywhere. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I just wanted to be in this house."
While Ben and I were never homeless per se, after leaving Phoenix, the affect of being unemployed and living three months in that hotel room had much the same effect on me, and is something I never want to go through again. For months after getting back into an apartment I wanted nothing more than to simply come home from work and be there. Even now most days I crave the security of our apartment over going out and doing much of anything after work.
That's why any talk—even hypothetical—of us moving to a different place now leaves me very unsettled.
Ben will be graduating and receiving his Masters Degree in Education next month. This will be the first time since I've known him that he will not be in school. This is a huge change for him, and I think he's feeling a bit lost as he begins his chosen career. The other day he told me that he now wants to get his Doctorate, and added, "We'll have to decide where we want to live."
Where we want to live? Excuse me?
When I was Ben's age, I wouldn't think twice about packing up and moving once a year. But now that I'm older, having stability—especially after the radical changes this past year have brought—is extremely important to me. The last thing I want to do is cross state lines again—especially since I've finally adjusted to living in Denver.
"Don't worry, it won't be for another six years."
I pointed out the obvious fact that I'm no longer in my 30s and can't just walk into another job like I used to be able to. In six years I will be at an age that even with my impeccable skill set and piles of kudos from previous employers, finding work in my chosen profession might be prove difficult. While my current job is far from ideal, it's still a job, relatively secure (or at least as secure as any job in this economy), providing a steady income with benefits paid. There are millions of Americans out there still desperately searching for what I have, and I'm not exactly sure I'm willing to give that up—especially as I get older—just so Ben—as much as I love him—can become a professional student.
It's a hard decision to make. I can't imagine having to pick up and start over somewhere else, even at my "younger" age. So much to do and change and become maladjusted to over again. I like consistency and comfort. On the other hand, the Husbear has these plans to have us live seasonally in a place with a beach within the decade. And he's ready to do it, even though it'd all be new. Love does weird things to us. Or makes us do weird things.
I don't blame you for dreading another move. That is the main reason why I haven't moved back to Tucson. As I get older I am less inclined to uproot myself and start over.