Think of this: When someone else’s decisions are close to your elbow, they are mostly your own seen as your own. It’s hard to leave them, to make louder decisions, to untangle yourself from their roots and shoots.
Weighing doesn’t do much: Ithaca was a little bit my decision; California wasn’t my decision at all; and Buffalo is a place that is my own decision, but the context is out of my hands. Whole days, I feel small footed and walking behind.
I do this to my mother—when she complains about my father, I tell her she chose him, chose this. And now I know it’s not entirely this way.
Jesse is opening his own business, and I am hoping to find work where I am less lone wolf and more teamed/allied/collaborative. His loan was approved and a building is in mind—and built, decorated, ready and waiting; his decisions become my own, and this isn’t necessarily part of marriage I was ready for. So much deeper now that Avery is here and our decisions not only mix, but land on top of his lemon colored head.
Our differences have been our strengths: Jesse is social and I am scared. Jesse takes risks and I tip toe. Jesse is confidence and I blush. As parents, it’s the same, Avery knows I’ll give him an extra cookie and Jesse will make sure he gets enough vegetables. It looks like, and usually feels like, balance.
But this moment feels tipped with my worry.