By: Esther Boykin

Each morning as I go into our bathroom I am confronted with an unsettling image. No, it’s not my own scary early morning reflection, although I often wonder, if 30 is the new 20 then why do I look 45? What I see is a house. Not really a house but the house- the house that has turned my husband’s dreams of California living into a tangible real life possibility. Right there plastered to my bathroom mirror are floor plans and photos and site maps. I’m afraid that soon he may hang up some flood certificates and electrical wiring diagrams. Now let me start by saying that this is a beautiful house. The kind of house I could imagine moving into and never leaving. The sort of place where your kids can grow into adulthood and you can grow into old age. Amazing wood floors with marble inlays, a master suite that would make every night feel like a world-class vacation (without the room service of course), and a kitchen that would inspire me to cook as if I were hosting my own show on Food TV. So what, you might ask, is so upsetting about such a lovely home that we don’t even own anyway? Well it is the promise that comes with the house. The promise that I must truly come face to face with my husband’s dreams and my own foggy ambivalence about what’s next in my life.

You see for nearly the entire twelve years that we have been married he has wanted to move to California. Southern California to be more exact, San Diego County to be precise. He loves it. The weather, the lifestyle, the endless miles of beautiful highway on which to ride his motorcycle, all of this and more await him in our new home out west. We’ve lived in 3 different states, he’s had numerous jobs, and two kids later he still clings to his westward dreams like a gold miner waiting for pay dirt. It’s kind of endearing to watch his persistence and single-minded focus on this move. It’s that kind of drive and ambition that I found attractive in the first place. He is the kind of man who knows what he wants, makes a plan to get it and follows through. He’s the kind of person that picks a single point on the map and then drives straight there, no bathroom breaks. I’m more the type to decide I want to go to the beach and just drive toward the ocean till I find what I’m looking for. And usually this works to our advantage. He keeps us focused and I help him open his eyes to all the scenery along the way. Sometimes he allows me to steer us a little off course to find something even better than where we were headed, but not on this issue. He loves California and I have become softened to the idea – after all, twelve years of propaganda has to have some effect.

For many years it was an idea that was nice and fun to entertain because I knew we wouldn’t really go. I was in school, then he was in school, and of course the kids were there and young and we needed help and familiarity. But after two Masters Degrees and getting two kids through diapers, preschool and finally into elementary school things have changed. He’s in a job where he could theoretically live anywhere and work from home. Our son is getting ready to start middle school and his sister is only a few years behind him. Now is the time to think about where to settle for the long haul. Although I enjoy my work, the truth is that I am a full-time mom and very part-time therapist. While I would hate to leave my clients behind, I can move now without a lot of professional disruption. And so begins my dilemma. There is a part of me that loves the idea of new start. A fresh place with a different kind of lifestyle might be just what we need. Living outside of Washington DC is exhausting. Everywhere you go takes forty-five minutes and people work all the time. Rarely do our friends just laze around on the weekend or go to a museum or for a hike. There is so much to do here but it seems all we do is schlep from one ambitious pursuit to another. I look around and all I see is a city of workaholics. California seems to be more casual and eco-friendly. People go to the beach and the wine country. I hear the traffic is no better but I can live with long commutes if it means our weekends involve lying in the sun and taking a break. But this is all just speculation. Who says that just because it’s warm and sunny and near the ocean that we’ll be more relaxed and take time out to play? Maybe we’ll just continue to live the life we have now, just with better weather. And so I have to push past lifestyle and weather to the real question- will fulfilling my husband’s California dream equate to my own contentment? Suddenly I realize that I don’t really know where I want to live or what I want to do for that matter.

Somewhere over the years of caring for my husband and my children I lost sight of what I want to do. I lost track of my personal goals and have become only a supporter of other people’s ambitions. In the midst of finishing my degree, raising two babies, and watching my husband’s career flourish, I stopped really thinking about what I want to do with my life. But maybe that is the real issue here- do I even have a life? There was a time when discussions about relocating our family was a negotiation of personal goals. I want to go to this graduate school, he wants to pursue this new job, we both want the kids to live near family. Suddenly I find myself with no real issue to negotiate. There is no school to attend, no great job to pursue; even the kids are in a place where moving sounds like an exciting opportunity to make new friends and learn to surf. So maybe the question isn’t whether my husband’s dreams can fulfill me but what happened to having my own ambitions.

I’m not the only wife and mother to ask this question. Often as women we immerse ourselves so fully in the daily demands of caring for our families that our individual goals and dreams become distant and sometimes forgotten memories. Somehow our personal goals become selfish or silly. We begin to dismiss the idea of doing what we always dreamed of or worse yet become too afraid to explore the idea of something new. I look at my closest friends and see incredibly intelligent and creative women who don’t pursue opportunities in order to be available to their kids. Women who don’t go back to school or change careers in order to maintain the support system that their husbands need to move ahead in their careers. Let me say upfront that I don’t blame our husbands or our children for this phenomenon. I think that for most of us it is a choice we make to place our families ahead of ourselves and I don’t believe that it is such a bad thing all the time. There is no job that I will ever pursue that has more meaning or lasting impact on the world than raising my children. And there is no dream that I can live that would outweigh the mundane joys of married life with a man whom I adore. I am not suggesting that motherhood or wifedom are traps that force us to give up our independent selves. I am suggesting that in the process of being the family anchor I have lost some of my ambition.

I am almost thirty-years-old and find myself genuinely asking “what should I do with my life?” Now my youth may be part of my problem; maybe this is my quarter-life crisis and if I were single and childless I’d just schlep across Europe for a few months or quit my job and write a novel. But I have friends ten years my senior who seems to be facing the same dilemma and so I have to think this is more than a sudden attack of existential angst. As my children grow I wonder how I will help them to explore their dreams and passions when I am still struggling to figure out my own. Rediscovering yourself at twenty-nine is not as enjoyable as one might think. The self doubt and anxiety that most of us experienced in our late teens and twenties is a lot more unnerving a decade later, especially with two children and a husband to fit into the equation. But how I find my way onto my own path is a discussion for another time. Right now it seems that I have to face the fact that my husband’s dream will not fulfill my need for direction but it won’t be an obstacle either. If I have learned nothing else in twelve years of marriage, I have learned this: his dreams are part of my dreams and mine are always part of his. And maybe as we head west in search of my husband’s California dream; I just might find what I am searching for along the way.

Esther Boykin is a full-time mother, part-time family therapist, and freelance writer. She currently lives in Northern Virginia with two funny kids, two rambunctious dogs, and one wonderful husband.