The offered job in the offer letter and home in the sales contract are in different locations, but both unsigned agreements are open on my computer; I flick between the tabs.
In the world of pandemic, war, shortages, and inflation, all markets are volatile, and all predictions flawed. No one knows how to best insulate against the next storm. It’s hard to know what to value now.
The job offers the money needed to purchase the home. The home drains liquid assets but offers a desirable benefit that the current apartment does – space to (hopefully) start a family. The job’s salary makes the cost of having children (as a woman nearing 40, I no longer have the luxury of time to spend on natural methods with dwindling probability of success) more accessible but moving out of the one-bedroom rental into the house makes a home study for adoption placement feasible.
My mind yo-yos between flexibility and stability. This decision, and the narrow window in which to make it, feels precarious; should I make the wrong choice, there is less time to course-correct.
Cruising ship? Anchored oak?
Which is better to weather
this stormy steel sky?
Go Dog Go Cafe, W3, Twiglets. I drew inspiration from “My anchor is well cast, and my ship, though weather-beaten, will outride the storm” Samuel Hopkins, theologian from dVerse, but I found the prompt to write a deathbed poem somewhat distasteful so I’m not doing it. Still, I’ll give credit for the inspiration.