Moving Sideways

I'm married, and I have a 7-year-old. Like too many parents in contemporary America, I work in a different state, an 8-hour drive away from home. Unlike most of those parents, I'm a mom.

My husband and son live in Michigan, a state recently celebrated for having the highest unemployment rate in the nation. I, on the other hand, live in Upstate New York. It's beautiful here, especially as fall begins to creep in.

Michigan is also lovely this time of year, the crispness in the air made even crisper by the simple pleasure of walking to the bus stop, waving goodbye to the boy as he heads off for school. It would be very easy to become maudlin, overly emotional and, well, a complete wreck.

That, however, would be counterproductive. My husband is self-employed, which means that I have moved here not only for money, but also for health and dental care, a TIAA-CREF retirement package and numerous other lovely benefits. We do what we must, and for me this means moving forward rather than wallowing in what I'm currently missing.

You might ask "if your husband is self-employed, why didn't he move the business with you?" And the answers are: we own a house in Michigan, and this job may not be a perfect match. The first is the one we can't control: we own a house in Michigan where, if we are lucky, we would be able to sell it for half of what we owe. The second, well. I have every reason to believe that we'll like each other just fine. But until we're sure of this new relationship, it seems prudent not to take the large loss on the house and uproot the child only to be stuck in a place with no family, no resources.

And so here we are: 8 hours apart.