Things are going pretty well in my life right now. Great marriage, good job, nice house, cute dog. Clearly I couldn't let that stand. I need more drama in my life to make my existence more closely resemble those of the people on television.

So, what exactly can my husband and I do that would simultaneously make us lose our jobs, give up our home, stress out our dog and put our marriage to the test? Relocation, of course.

Recently, my husband decided to start his own business. Not quite sure what finally flipped the switch that made him all ambitious. I know it wasn't my lazy butt that inspired him, so I've decided to blame global warming, since it seems to cause every other anomaly on our planet.

Of course he couldn't be motivated in his own back yard. That wouldn't be exciting enough.

"I have to quit my job, and the feminist part of my brain is calling me a dumbass." Click here to read the rest of Eliza's post.




Motivation ... and his business partners ... currently live in Las Vegas. Since there are two of them and one of him, they were all like, "Get your ass out here." Plus, Nevada apparently has some freaking awesome tax benefits for businesses, which I don't care enough about to investigate further, so I'll just take their word for it.

Actually, it's not as crazy as it sounds. We both lived in Vegas up until about five years ago when we were working for the same company. That's where we met, fell in love and started living in sin. We were young and dumb and willing to spit in the face of all the smart folks who say you shouldn't get involved with your co-workers. Against all odds, it ended up working. Most likely because the company shut down soon after, and we were both forced to move away and take jobs at different companies.

Fast-forward five years and we're now all the way across the country, preparing to move back to Vegas where it all started. Where love blossomed and birds cooed and where you could walk in public with a foot-long daiquiri without anyone looking twice. So, yeah, there are benefits, despite all the insanity that it will take to get there.

But here's the real issue for me: I have to quit my job. A job that I love and that I think loves me back. A job with people I care about, projects that challenge me, and real growth potential. And this is sorta tearing me up inside.

Intellectually, I know that, should my husband's business succeed, it will mean all kinds of wonderful things for the two of us and I'll be able to pursue any career I want. Or just be an indolent dilettante that spends her days at the spa. So I'm really trying to look at the big picture here. But it's hard when the feminist part of my brain is saying things like, "Good thing you spent six years getting advanced degrees -- they'll be a big help as you follow your man wherever he wants to go. Dumbass." Usually that voice is the loudest when I wake up around 2 a.m. completely stressed about the whole situation and wondering what kind of apron and rolling pin I should buy to accessorize my upcoming 1950s existence.

Fortunately, when the sun rises, it shines a beacon of rationality over me. I will still have a career. In fact, I've decided to pursue freelance writing -- something I've wanted to do for a long time, something I believe I can be good at, and something that will not require me to change out of my PJs in the morning. I think that's a nice complement to my husband's newfound ambition. What I've come to terms with is that I'm not "following" my husband. I'm walking beside him as we commit both of our time, energy and every single penny of our savings to making his business a huge success and securing a beautiful future for the two of us.

Now we just have to find a new house, find a Realtor, fix up our current house, have a garage sale, pack all our belonging, start drinking heavily ...

But that's for a future post.