Boise in the rear-view mirror

About a dozen years ago while finishing law school in Laramie, Wyoming, I was hired to work as an attorney for the federal government practicing the kind of law I dreamed of practicing. The catch? I had to move to Washington, D.C., for at least my first year on the job. So even though I had never been to the nation's capitol and even though I had no idea whether I would even be able to find a place to buy Copenhagen on the east coast, I accepted the position.

Almost immediately I wondered if I had made an epic mistake, one to rival my first marriage or that time I incorrectly assumed my parents would be gone for the entire weekend (long story short, the homecoming dance at my high school was cancelled). The truth is that I’m not good in crowds or places with noise and such. By “not good” I mean I am prone to angry, intrusive thoughts of perpetrating violence against persons and property when I feel crowded. And by “feel crowded” I mean sharing the same zip code with others. But my stint in D.C. turned out OK. My sagebrush-yearning, misanthropic self survived eighteen months of mass humanity, oppressive traffic, and relentless humidity without harming anyone or anything except maybe my liver. Then the work gods smiled upon me and I was sent to a field office in Boise.

I loved living in Boise. It’s a city – a metro area of about half a million people – but after living in D.C., nothing I couldn’t handle. In fact, I once wrote a gushing love letter about my feelings for Boise and Idaho. I planned to live and work in Boise until I retired, and then to keep on living there until eventually I died. Whenever I talked to anyone about Boise it was all Boise this and Boise that. I was almost as obnoxious about my home city as people from Portland are about theirs (as if that were possible).

And this brings me to the point. Never marry a smart and exceedingly talented woman unless you are willing to move back to Washington, D.C. Because one day without warning someone will call her and offer her a too-good-to-refuse job as a senior executive at some fancy non-profit education policy organization in Washington, D.C., and she will ask you what you think.

This is precisely the circumstance and question presented to me by my wife, Carissa, a few months ago. What do you think, she asked? She was excited by the possibilities and looked at me expectantly. I thought about how she had worked full time and earned her master’s degree while I was working part time (or less) earning my master’s degree and law degree. I thought about how she left a good job in Wyoming to move to D.C. with me the first time around and then reshaped her career path when we left D.C. for Boise. I thought about how much I love and respect her, and what a powerful role model she is to our daughters. And I thought about what a great opportunity this would be for her. I paused, met her gaze, and then told her that she was out of her fucking mind if she thought I would ever move back to Washington, D.C.

Western sunset en route to east coast.



Kidding! I told her of course she should accept the job, she had to accept the job. Then I went into the bathroom (the recently remodeled one in our smartly updated, affordable, and conveniently located house in Boise), locked the door, and wept. And when I finished weeping, I dried my eyes and pulled on my big boy britches and told Carissa I was on board and moving forward. No bitching or moaning about relocating, no Boise this and Boise that, no harbored regrets or resentments. We would move to D.C. and I would like it.

Yes, the decision has complicated a lot of things in our already complicated lives and saying goodbye to friends in Boise was hard. But Carissa had earned her call-up to the big leagues. Once school was out for the summer, we packed up and headed east. I have transferred within my agency to our main office in D.C. where I am working on issues and cases that are interesting and challenging as well as important. Professionally this is a good move for me too.

The move also promises plenty of grist for the blogging mill as I attempt to fit into my new surroundings. I’m keeping the Straight Outta Boise blog title because I’m a still just a Boise guy bringing the middle-age, middle-glass, government attorney blues from my exile in the District of Columbia. And while I am not going to complain about the decision to move into exile, I reserve the right to observe and comment on life from my new vantage point, with vitriol and snark if necessary. Stay tuned.