My mom and I went out for a girls' day today - shopping, lunch, and pedicures. While we were chatting, she mentioned that her student teacher (we'll call her Andrea), who lives a couple of blocks from me and I've used for babysitting a couple of times, might be moving to Arizona. This is a dramatic departure from what Mom was telling me about Andrea a few weeks ago. We both thought I'd have a sitter at least through the summer because she was planning to stay in the area and look for a job because she's dating a guy who's got ties around here and won't be leaving.
This turn of events came about because an almost job offer in Arizona more-or-less fell in her lap. She was talking to my mom about it last week and said going off somewhere to live on her own has always been something she's wanted to do, but she's very seriously considering passing on Arizona because of her boyfriend. As the words were coming out of Mom's mouth, I said, several times, "She should go! Tell her to go!"
My mom, two steps ahead of me, told Andrea that if this is something she wants to do, she needs to go. Mom told her that moving away was something I always wanted to do, but gave it up because I wanted to marry B and I knew that there would be no enticing him away from our little corner of Ohio. She (rightly) told Andrea that this was something I've regretted, and something my mom thought had caused some problems in B and my relationship (though I'm not sure I've ever consciously had that thought, it does have that uncomfortable feeling of truth to it).
Looking back on our marriage (which I've had ample opportunity to do clear-headedly over the past few months), there were a lot of things, big and small, that I gave up over the years for B. They ran the gamut from giving up my dream of moving to North Carolina, to caving on R's middle name, to going with the living room furniture he wanted even though I didn't really like it, and I did it far more frequently than I should have. This wasn't something that was his fault, and it's not like he browbeat me or anything; it's just something I willingly did. And I'm really not sure why.
This is a problem, and clearly something that I'm going to have to figure out and work through before I get into another relationship, you know, 20 or 30 years from now. Until then, I'll have to live vicariously through the stories Andrea sends back to my mom from Arizona.