The Gambler

In every relationship someone holds the aces.  The Professor and I play a pretty friendly game most of the time, due to the fact we spent years in marriage therapy learning how to throw our cards up in the air once in a while and say, “Oh, well, what the hell!”  I am still developing my poker face and penchant for calling bluffs. 

In case you haven’t heard the whole story…we were visiting Cornell for a year “sabbatical”—a year off from the rat race, a chance for my business-world warrior to unwind and give back, an opportunity for me to wipe my jammed-packed dance card clean and take some writing classes, an adventure for our children of living somewhere besides an expensive beachside community where the biggest threat to their safety was being hit by a woman texting while driving her Range Rover to a Botox appointment.   

A strange thing happened.  We fell in love with Ithaca and the Cornell community.  My husband loved teaching so much that his new nickname became “the Professor.”   He wears sport coats with patches on the elbows and long overcoats as he dashes around his ivy-covered workplace.  His students and colleagues are really cool.  My kids look like they are running through a Norman Rockwell painting most days and now we have a Coonhound who needs so much exercise, he really belongs in the country.  We extended our year “sabbatical” for another year. 

When Cornell offered the Professor a full-time position, it was like my husband played two pairs.  I winced and wiggled and wormed around for months trying to decide if I should pull out my three-of-a-kind:  I was slowing down from the long, gray, cold winters, I missed the sun and infusion of energy from my west coast family and friends, and I yearned for the vibrant colors all year round.  As we threw down our cards, the stakes went higher and higher.  At one point, the chips overwhelmed me.  How I could choose a bankrupt economy, in an expensive, crowded state over the stable university’s offer in a very affordable, agreeable town?

I felt like I was trying to bring down the house.  I sounded silly even to myself as I tried to explain why I was dragging my XL family away from the spacious life, back to a tighter world, all because upstate New York winters were cramping my style.  The Professor did everything he could to talk me into making Ithaca our permanent home.

The more I thought of staying, the more not returning home gnawed at me, until I hit my breaking point:  I envisioned myself five years down the road, depressed and pissed off, wearing my parka inside a crumbling, old mansion, trapped indoors because it was -6° outside, while some happy, vivacious lady living in my beautiful California home, blocks from tide pools and a morning walk alongside ocean waves, threw open the windows in the middle of January to let the breezy air fill her life.  The clarity startled me, I had found an ace.

I didn’t intentionally stay inside for weeks, only leaving for groceries or to pick up or drop off the boys at school, sports and play dates.  It was Cornell basketball and hockey season.  The Professor had season tickets and was out every Friday and Saturday night.  Of course I could have gone, but I couldn’t find the energy.  The inertia had set in, I pulled out another ace. 

When we talked about it, my heart raced and tears streamed down my face.  I understood the benefits of staying, and I tried to embrace all the goodness of our new life, but my emotions ruled my intellect.  He can’t stand to see me cry, either, ace number three. 

Ten more years until both boys are off to college. That means one long haul ahead of being chained to the house, trolling the schools, and figuring out things like summer camp and ski trips. I am a homemaker.  It is really hard to equate what I do with what my husband does, because everyone knows that teaching manners and building egos doesn’t pay the same as teaching private equity and building companies.  Thankfully, my final ace was right there all along—the Professor himself.  He said he understood me.  If he had my job, he’d rather do it in La Jolla and since we were fortunate enough to have the two options, he was going to back my choice.

I don’t know what to call it, a win, lose or draw, but I am running, not walking, away from the table!