Geograph-agita

I have geograph-agita. Which is to say, I'm stressed over geography.

This isn't exactly new to me. J-P and I have wrestled with questions of geography since almost the day we met, which was about a month before I moved out of New York and embarked on a long distance relationship with this Cute Blond Vegetarian Boy From Idaho. We spent nearly a year getting to know each other from afar. At first, he was in Chile, and I was in Belize, and we emailed about sunrises and deserts, scuba diving and mountain climbing. Those were some good days. Then he was in Florida, and I was in D.C., and we emailed about hurricanes and trailer parks, and law firms and billable hours. Those were some bad days. Then, for a long while, he was in New York, and I was still in D.C., and we emailed more and more, and visited as often as we could, and grew increasingly dissatisfied with this whole long-distance arrangement. And so I moved back, and the rest is history. (And of course, now he's in New York and I'm in Nashville and we email about how much this sucks and how we thought we were done with this phase of our lives, but that's not my point here and I'm sure you're plenty tired of hearing me whine about it.)

I remember as clear as day the first time we ever had the Talk. But this was no ordinary Talk. Usually, when people have the Talk, they figure out what they're doing together and where the relationship is going. For us, there was no need for the Talk, because our relationship was serious from the get-go, or else, why would we bother with the distance? No, our version of the Talk was all about geography. Here was this quintessential East Coast girl who had lived in or near three major East Coast cities by the time she was 22, and didn't have any intention of ever leaving. And then there was this ultimate Northwest boy who may have left the Northwest, but had every intention of going back, as it was clearly where his heart (and his family) were.

So, you see, we were at something of an impasse. And naturally, at some point, the question arose as to whether this impasse was a deal-breaker, or whether we'd choose to weather it together. And, like I said, clear as day I remember having that conversation. We were in Seattle, which was something of a homecoming for J-P, and something entirely new for me. It was also our first real trip together, and we'd already experienced -- and survived together -- some major travel headaches ranging from delayed flights to lost luggage to being completely rained out of our ski trip.

It was the tail end of the trip, and we were on a bus downtown to do some sightseeing. I don't know how the question of geography came up, but it did. And once it came up, it was a conversation that asserted itself like a demanding knock at the door that wouldn't go away until we'd opened the door and dealt with it head on. And so we stood there, in each other's arms on the platform of Seattle's subterranean bus terminal, as if time had stopped. And we decided, together, right then and there, that geography would not be a deal breaker.

Of course, we didn't figure out the solution to our geography problem right then, but we resolved not to let it come between us. And it didn't, and it hasn't, and it won't. But that doesn't make the process of figuring out where we want to make our lives any easier. There are all the usual competing considerations -- family, job opportunities, cost of living, commuting time, diversity, quality of life, accessibility to cultural events, accessibility to the outdoors, and friends. At some point, we are going to have to strike a balance between all of these considerations and just PICK, dammit.

But it's hard, because no matter what we decide will mean sacrificing something, and I've never been good at sacrifice, and I find the thought of closing certain doors nearly paralyzing. I don't WANT to have to pick. What I want is to have it all, wrapped in a pretty bow with a cherry on top.

Is that too much to ask?