Six months ago, my husband, Timmy, and I put our house up for sale and planned to move across the country to Seattle. There were many reasons, but among the most dire was the job situation. We live in a small Pennsylvania town and the only four or five colleges within driving distance don’t even offer a Creative Writing program. The trades, in which my husband works, are trending more and more towards using non-union labor. Unions in general are disliked by most in this area. So, moving somewhere more liberal, where unions and teachers are valued, seemed like a good plan.
And it was.
Only, we didn’t count on not being able to sell our home. We didn’t count on me landing a (Surprise!) job. And we didn’t count on Timmy getting called up for a major build (although, since it is a another casino related project, I probably should have expected it.) So, since the job situation resolved itself, we didn’t move. We aren’t moving. We made the plans and my heart soared towards Seattle. Then, we landed here, again.
I don’t know if we should have waited longer for the house to sell and left regardless of job offers. I don’t know if our daughters would have been happier out there. But I suspect, just maybe, that it would have been a great move. You see, something else happened in the time it took us to prepare for the now non-move: I spent months researching schools, homes, and neighborhoods in Seattle. I sought out Seattleites, formed friendships, and fell in love with what I thought was going to be my new home. And now that we are not going, everything feels flat. I still find myself yearning for the move, second-guessing our decision to stay here, and wondering what life would have been like somewhere else.
In short, I wonder if Seattle aches for me like I ache for it.
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