Today I’m guest posting at Belinda Nicoll’s blog, My Rite of Passage, where Belinda has been sharing what change means. Each Friday someone has told a personal story on change, rite of passage as it were, and what it meant in their lives. Here’s where change started for me:
When I married my second husband in 1981, I envisioned living out our lives in Tennessee. It was MY home state, where I was born and raised. Other than two years living outside Nashville while in college, I’d never thought of living elsewhere.
I had been well-versed by my mother in the belief that one never “left home” — your immediate family implied here. Her temperamental nature had also been engrained in mine. It was understood that she was the matriarch and hers was the last word.
Fast forward to 1983. A friend of my husband’s called from Oregon and offered him a lucrative opportunity in Portland. We had struggled financially in the intervening two years, and the offer would improve our circumstances. The choice to make a physical move was easy for the two of us. However, there were contingencies to be faced.