I’d like to say that I exude confidence. I really would like to say that. And maybe I do exude an air of knowing just what the hell I’m doing, because I do try to. But beneath my smiling exterior stands a fragile man, unsure of so many things. Worry eats at him daily. He barely treads water in the ever-thickening pool of anxiety. Masked with happiness, I’m scared. Scared of the unknown, scared of making the wrong decision, and mostly of not being able to provide for my family.

Those fears have cemented my feet and prevented me from doing anything differently than I have for the last three years.

I have a great job that does exactly what I need it to do; provide. We have a roof over our head, no shut-off notices (except for that one month that I forgot to pay the water bill, whoops), clothes on our backs, and food on the table. It also has its perks, with one of the biggest being that I set my own schedule. I can be home just about any time I want to. I can spend the entire afternoon with my family, so long as I get up early enough to get my hours in. I can take Friday off, if I’ve worked longer days the previous four. There’s a high level of flexibility, which is huge when you have a family.

But this was all supposed to be temporary.

I took this role for two reasons. To provide and to learn. This job afforded me the ability to put Sarah through school, with very, very little need of financial assistance. Provide… done. I won’t delve into the learning aspect, but suffice to say that, while learning never stops, I certainly feel that I’ve attained my goal, plus some. It turns out, though, that the whole “providing” thing never stops either. It evolves. When Sarah neared graduation, and we finally saw the pin-hole of light at the end of the tunnel, the decision was made to start a family. And that, my friends, is a lifelong commitment. One that I do not, and never will, regret. But partly because of that decision we decided to stay. Then we found another reason, then another, and then another.

The issue is that my current role required us to relocate. We live in a truly great little town, but it isn’t what Sarah and I consider to be our home. That place is two hours away. And while I’m sure that isn’t “far” by many standards, it is far enough for it to have an impact on our lives. Not all bad, but not all good either. After three years, it’s really taking its toll on me, which means it’s REALLY taking its toll on Sarah. We miss home, and everything it brings. Two things I will never miss, though, is the traffic on one particular street, and the mountains of “lake effect” snow that fall on “home” every year.

The opportunity to move back has been offered a few times. More than a few, to be perfectly honest. Deep down, I wanted to move back – WE wanted to move back – yet I turned them all down. We made excuses to keep everything the same. Moving down here was easy, because it was just Sarah and I; two able-bodied adults that can care for themselves and be accountable for their actions. The baggage we will be bringing back has a heartbeat and is one hundred percent dependent on us to do the right thing.

I took the first of many huge steps yesterday. I told my boss that I was ready and that I would like to talk about my options. I just hope this decision isn’t one opportunity too late.

So, now, one very small gear in a very large clock has begun to turn, and quite frankly, I’m scared.