Signs

I’ve spent the last 11 months living alone. When I wasn’t at work or socializing with the friends who hadn’t ditched me for ending my marriage, I’ve engaged in quiet contemplation, looking for signs to guide what I’ve called my metamorphosis.

Okay. So it wasn’t exactly “quiet” contemplation.

Since March I have in fact been driving myself noisily crazy trying to decide if I am ready to move or not. The messages have been mixed. One poster says “Stay in Corpus Christi another year.” The other says “Move to Columbia this summer.”

That’s “Columbia,” not “Colombia,” so no, I’m not considering taking my bumbly Spanish and ample experience traveling south of the border and relocating to South America. It’s not going to be that kind of adventure.


I’ve in fact fallen in love with a divorced father of three who teaches English in Columbia, South Carolina. So I’m thinking about moving to an even redder state than Texas to clumsily embark upon what has begun to feel like the only kind of adventure I haven’t had yet.

I didn’t ever think I was one of those women. No, I was the determinedly childless adventure-maker who never wanted kids. Then - wouldn’t you know it - as I drove my figurative two-seater sportscar into the vicinity of 40, the old biological clock started clanging like a church bell in a cathedral and I discovered - WHOOPS! - I am one of those women after all.

Oh, the bitter paradox of it! I had SO wanted to be unique and unusual and - WOE IS ME - the signs are clear - it turns out I’m just like everyone else!

I. Want. To. Raise. A. Family.

There. I said it.

But I also want to have a meaningful career and to stay in Corpus Christi meant security in my job, which I like and where I have good friends and colleagues who know and trust me.

Moving to Columbia means starting over, proving myself at a new school, making all new friends and getting used to a whole new city. It also means seeing Paul on a regular basis and I hate to gush but one sign that flashes neon bright all the time is PAUL IS THE GREATEST THING SINCE SLICED MULTIGRAIN HIGH PROTEIN BREAD.

Perhaps more to the point: I am my best version of myself when I am with Paul.

All this noise and turmoil made quiet contemplation of the signs a bit challenging.

So I promised myself (and my concerned friend Winnie) that I’d quit trying to decide anything. Just relax and enjoy the month of July with Paul and his kids in Columbia. You know, like a person on vacation. Chill.

Meanwhile, I’d had this conversation with my dad, the retired schoolteacher. It was one of those father-daughter conversations that he tries quickly to end and I try to meander slowly through and because of the weird chemical reaction that happens when our two styles collide, I come to an important conclusion about myself. This is what the latest round brought out: “I’d really be happiest just teaching kids with autism exclusively.” To which he sagely replied: “So why don’t you do that?”

Like it’s sooooooooooo simple.

On Wednesday I was driving along with my friend Michelle explaining all of this to her. I said, “At this point, the only way I’m going to move to Columbia is if a job falls in my lap. And not just any job. I want a job teaching Kindergarten through third grade children with autism. And since I don’t want to spend my vacation trying to track down a job and I have such a specific requirement for it, I'm probably not moving this summer.”

Twenty-four hours, later a principal at a school in Columbia with an opening for an autism teacher in K-3rd grade was saying to me over the phone, “Can you come in and sign the contract on Wednesday?”

Do you think that qualifies as a sign?