The Third Option

I have recently returned back to L.A. from the east coast where I spent quality time -- definitely not quantity time -- with family and friends and business associates from my publishing days. All in all, it was a productive and lovely time. So productive and lovely that it made me debate, once again, a move back "home."

These days, I'm kinda done with the career goal. Time and time again, I've set my sites on some glamour job with the hopes that it will give me money, prestige, and validation. That through hard work, I would feel valuable. Unfortunately, the only thing I've ever gotten from work are these bunched muscle knots in my back, usually directly below my right shoulder blade. (They hurt like the Dickens. Seriously.) And because I'm done with My All Encompassing Drive Towards the Ultimate Career, I've been looking at something I've often overlooked before, mostly because I was given it in spades, my relationships.

I don't want to sound like I just realized that my relationships are important. That's incorrect. I have journals filled -- and I mean that -- with platitudes like, "I'm so lucky to have been blessed with a large loving family, and I love them back!" usually followed by something like, "But I really wish they didn't smother me to death!" And a Sex and the City worthy, "I think my best friends are my soul mates. Who says your soul mate has to be a man?!" On the heels of which I would write, "but I still want to get married. So, if I could just find a guy that I love and who loves me back, that would be the ultimate." However, I think the waning need to become CEO of NBC/Paramount intersecting with the birth of gorgeous little nieces is making me reassess the the primacy of my intimate relationships over my over-driven ego to Make Something of Myself. As with everything, too much of one thing is not good. And I have never been good at moderation (hence my weight. Heh).

I talked about this push-pull desire to go back to the east coast with Edie and my sister. Both, of course, are advocates for the migration back. However, both understand the subtle reasons to just stay put, too. (Honestly, one knows when one is loved when one has such supportive and empathetic people in one's life. I really am blessed. One tick in the Go Back column? Be closer to Edie and my sister again.) Even though, occasionally, I'll try to imagine a different reality -- as in "what if I had just stayed in New York?" -- I've only done it as an alternate universe scenario. I don't wish that I never left New York. In fact, right before I left New York, I was beginning to become anxious that the window to make the Big Move to Los Angeles and Start All Over Again was closing. Because, let's face it, there comes a point in one's life when money and position start to make an impact. In one's 30s and 40s, it's about staying put and trying to grow something. Whether that's getting married and having babies or a career trajectory or buying a fixer-upper house (or all the above), its the time in one's life that one pours the foundation of their golden years. And that's exactly what I feel like I'm missing right now: A foundation.

My newest anxiety? I'm sliding toward 40, and I don't know what I want that foundation to be. Once again, I feel like the window of opportunity is closing and I better make up my mind. I hate this feeling. I feel like it comes over me a lot. But it's probably only every five years. You know, right around the time I pull up stakes and start over again somewhere else. But because I'm in my 30s and my biological clock has started its countdown, I feel like I have to be very careful where I place the next foot. I'm starting to ask myself a very important question: What do I want my life to be about? To be a an utter cliche, what is the meaning of my life? Fortunately, I believe we get to make that decision. Unfortunately, I don't want it just one way. I want it all ways. And I want enough time in which to put it all in so that I don't have to do it all at once. (Hm, I really do have to get a handle on that moderation thing.)

Interestingly, on the ride from JFK into Connecticut, my brother-in-law joked that my sister couldn't seem to stay put for more than a few years. Every couple of years, my sister wants to move. Whether it's to a new town for a new job, or a new apartment because it's bigger, better, closer to something Kate needs to be closer to, they pack and move. My BIL does not understand this. He had one house as a kid then his parents divorced and he had another house. Then he met my sister. He's been on the move ever since. Kate laughed that she couldn't help it. Every few years, she feels stagnate and an overwhelming urge to pull up stakes and move-on overcomes her. So, this roving gypsy lifestyle seems to be in our DNA. For Kate every two years, for me, every five. (I think I got the better end of that deal.) Kate admitted that it wasn't always cheaper or better, but there was always some reason that she could come up with that required the move. Much like how I can always come up with a reason to go out and start a new career.

While I was in New York, partying with my old friends, slipping into old routines, popping up to Connecticut for the weekend to celebrate some family milestone, I saw exactly what my life would be if I did move back. Exactly what it was before I left, and -- to be frank -- that depressed me a little. Because if I did move back, I would want it to be different somehow. I wouldn't want to be back in publishing necessarily. I wouldn't want to have to muscle my way through the City and put back on my armor. I wouldn't want to feel obligated to go into Connecticut whenever a family function necessitated it. These were all reasons to move out west the first time. I felt I needed to get away from my smothering family love, and my soul mate girlfriends to actually go out, be myself and maybe find a guy to create something new with. And while some of that happened -- I definitely feel like I've found my center -- and some hasn't -- seriously, where is that man?! -- I know the move was the right move. But now it's five years later, and my roving gypsy heart is calling for a new adventure while my soul is tired now and just wants to be loved and thinks maybe it's time to cash in my chips and go home. While I long for the Known, I know I will want it only for so long before I loathe again. So I wait with the hope that a third option will come along and break this awful cycle of mine and give me exactly what I need. Something that appeals both to my gypsy heart and tired soul.