It’s a Sunday. My flight has been canceled and we’ve been drinking. Drinking and talking. These are things the Reeds do well. Exceptionally well.
There we were: me sitting uncharacteristically still at the bar, he pacing the floor in front of me with arms waving and voice raising. This, I might add, is not uncharacteristic.
“You. You are one of those people that really believes they have a right to love their job.”
I cannot deny this. I want to love my job; I deserve to love what I do. And while the current (now old) gig challenged and pulled my strengths, it didn’t pull my heart-strings. I was invested in the people, not the work. This is not love.
“This is not a light decision. We have money and houses and big muscle movements to consider.”
The further into adulthood I leap, the more I am prone to instinct and calculated spontaneity. In return, my husband attempts to keep me grounded. Bring on the pros and cons. Let the lists be lengthy. So over wine the lists were made and the decisions became clear.
“I think we should do this. The Pros win.”
A new job, a move back together, and another new chapter in the playbook of Reed.
The Pros have spoken: sex on demand, one house, one food bill, hot wife, corgis, naked husband, and financial savings. Well, well, this new gig sounds like a win to me.