Fritz came into my life as a wild card. He didn't really fit my plan. We met. We were friends for about a year. We dated for a month or two, but then: I was going to grad school and leaving Portland far behind; he was heading back to Munich to take his first faculty position. On our first actual date, I was really upfront about his potential status in my life,
"Well, I'm applying to grad schools. For my masters."
"Where are you applying?"
"Harvard. Princeton. MIT."
"Oooh. What's your back up school?" he asked.
"MIT."
"Huh. Nothing close to Portland? Nothing on the West Coast?"
"No."
I just wanted him to know, as we were sitting there, on a date: he didn't fit my plan. Sure, we could go on a couple dates. But he was just a wild card.
That was, of course, before I really knew how powerful wild cards could be. I thought I had a lot of control. I thought I had everything all figured out. I had the typical confidence of a 27 year old, and the typical lack of wisdom of a 27 year old. Oh wild cards! How they could make you shift course: move across the Atlantic, pause a career, bring three little lives into the world.
***
Then there was the Denver interview. We had been living in Munich for about 4 years. Noah was almost a year old. I'd taken a job teaching business English and was surprised to find that I not only loved teaching, but it was providing the perfect complement to my life as a first time mom. After a rough 18 months of culture shock, and what seemed like a hopeless search for work as an architect, I had STILL managed to settle in to life in Germany. I even managed to attract the attention of some Americans looking for a Munich-based architect... would it lead to anything? Who knew, but at least things were beginning to feel like they fit.
One night, Fritz came home with the news that he had a job interview in Denver. I was shocked. I didn't even know that he had applied for a job in Denver! Two years before, I would have been overjoyed. But now? After all the hard work of settling in that we had done... was I ready to walk away and move back to the States?
***
These days, when I catch whiff of a wild card, I'm cautious. Really cautious. I try to skirt away from them. Earlier in life, I grabbed those wild cards and held on tight, without so much as a second thought. But now I wonder, I really wonder...are they worth it? Do I hold the wild card, play it, or drop it? Shouldn't I just continue the path I'm on?
***
Recently, I dropped a wild card. I dropped it right down on the floor and then I stepped on it, while clamping my eyes shut. It was one of the more challenging things I've done lately. I think whenever you have an opportunity at my age (regardless of the form it comes in), you realize that passing up an opportunity is not just passing up the possible outcomes, but passing up people, adventures, and a part of yourself that could use some developing. With age, life feels more finite and you know that you are most likely passing an opportunity that will never come again. You are choosing comfort over thrill, familiarity over growth.
But then: I also grabbed a wild card: a new job, which I start tomorrow. I think that this job will be a much better fit for me. But I must confess, I'm having some pretty ambiguous feelings about starting over AGAIN. The part of me that wants to just sit still, smell the flowers, and enjoy the ride? That part of me is sulking about the transition. I talked myself into this, in part, by telling myself that this was coming anyway and it's better to just rip the bandaid off and move on. Still. Still.
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