Being a mother means that your heart is no longer yours; it wanders wherever your children do. ~Author Unknown
Early in my journalism career, I moved around — a lot. Always seeking the”perfect” job where the work was challenging, coworkers friendly, and climate ideal.
I wasn’t alone. Many of us were gypsies at heart, yet I never considered how hard that must have been on my parents.
Now I’m the mom, and I know moms never really relax until their kids are settled.
For the past several months, Domer has been transitioning from his job in the Land-of-the-North to another job closer to home.
Not that his first gig was awful. But he was ready for more challenges and pay, things denied to him without a major change.
Once he found a position he considered ideal in the Big City, the “fun” began.
Domer, bless him, gave his employer three weeks notice so he could train his replacement. Why not? He had six weeks before he was expected at the new job.
During those first three weeks he:
- Boxed his stuff
- Cancelled utilities
- Notified apartment management
- Visited friends
- Started studying for his new job
When Job #1 finished, he came home, picked me up, and we traveled north to search for an apartment.
Ever try to find housing during the busy summer months? Don’t bother. They’re booked.
But Domer was a man on a mission. Our second day out, he zeroed in on one he thought was ideal (right next to a golf course — how cool is that?!) and signed a lease.
I sniveled a bit because I’d allocated him a full week, but Domer figured slim pickings and approaching deadline trumped my feelings. Besides, he still had to change his driver’s license, register his car, hire movers, and relocate.
Hold up there, Grasshopper.
Movers, too, were booked. They gave estimates, but wanted months before doing the job. We couldn’t move ourselves (thanks to Domer’s creature comforts like furniture only pros could lift!), so we were at their mercy.
At the eleventh hour, one company caved.
Finally Domer is housed. And working.
But he’s not settled.
His “ideal” apartment came with a commute that eats up too much time (plus a wealth of other issues like creeping cigarette smoke from his neighbors)
. He has yet to play golf. Or fully unpack.
So he’s considering moving — again — as soon as he legally can.
There’s truth in the adage, Act in haste, repent at leisure, don’t you think?