Yesterday I had the brilliant idea of moving to Vegas. Houses are cheap, nothing is really happening for me in L.A., and I want change: baby, new career, new location, something. Hubbie’s already sort of put the kybosh on the baby thing, so career, location, career, location… I’ve started sending out resumes to real opportunities, and ones outside the country, because when things get static in a relationship, it usually falls apart. That’s been my experience anyway.
This morning I’m already having doubts. Could I really live in a gated suburb community miles away from anything interesting and a four-hour drive from everything I really want? Or am I just being a pussy? Wrangled in some subconscious fear, sedated by a few comforts, and wanting more to work on my book and go to the farmer’s market this weekend than do a four-hour drive to go bargain house-hunting.
Everything comes at a price. You have a baby, you say goodbye to sleep; you get a new career, you wonder if you could have done more for your business; you decide to move, and your significant other can’t move with you so you’re back to being in the long distance relationship you had when you first met wondering if things are going to start burning brighter or just fade further.