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Sitting at an empty desk in a brand new office, staring at a pile of first-day paperwork, marveling at the ways life turns on a dime....

A month ago, I left a job I never really wanted, in a town where I never cared to live. Until my husband started talking about leaving last summer, I had the hardest time picturing my future in that place. But as soon as he started dangling the possibility of the big city in front of me, I started thinking of reasons to stay. I was afraid that he'd resent me for taking him away from a place he loves; that his kids -- with whom I've made peace and great progress -- will blame me for taking him away from them; that I've inflated this place in my mind to the point that it could never live up to my overblown expectations.

I hemmed and hawed throughout the summer, particularly after I found out about his infidelity, trying to decide if I was brave enough to throw myself back into the mix. What if no one remembered me? What if the world had changed too much in the time I'd been gone and my knowledge base was irrelevant? What if my mind-numbing job had atrophied my skills? What if my best days, professionally, were behind me?

I did my best to convince myself that I liked (or at least didn't hate) my small town job. But no matter how hard I tried, I was always a fish out of water. My suspicions that I didn't quite fit in -- with my creative solutions ("We don't do it that way around here!") and big girl suits ("What're you all dressed up for?") -- were confirmed at an office retreat last summer. When my group did an exercise on interpersonal styles, we were asked to list three adjectives to describe each person. When the lists were compiled, the traits that appeared most often were "nice," "friendly," or "people person" -- except me. My colleagues called me "smart," "organized," and "efficient." The closest I got to nice was "well-connected," whatever that meant. In most organizations, it would be better to be thought of as "smart" than "nice," but there, it was isolating.

When I was a single girl, I defined myself professionally. I had hobbies and interests outside work, but work was the thing that drove my life. Until I left, I never realized how much of my identity was tied up in that big city job. And because the small town job required me to travel half the time, I wasn't able to put down roots in my new community. When I looked to meet people outside my husband's circle, I found that it was impossible to do things like take classes, join a book group, or even get involved in volunteer work because I couldn't commit to being there. I was frustrated, but I worked overtime to make the best of the choices I'd made. And as awful as it sounds, the happiest day of my small town life was the day my husband confessed HIS frustrations to me. His unhappiness was enough to push me off the ledge I'd been dancing on for months.

At the end of my first day, it's good to know that at least one of my fears is unfounded. The jury is still out on the others, but I am breathing a huge sigh of relief. It's good to be back.

The Wife Who Knows