A Job Is Lost, But
A Home Is Found

Amy, my wife, has quit her job.

This is the job for which we uprooted our family last summer and trekked back home to Louisiana from New Jersey. This was her dream job: chief nursing officer of a hospital. This is the job for which I agreed to alter my career track so that Amy could pursue hers.

And now here she is at home with me every day. And now here we are in south Louisiana, having spent several thousand dollars to relocate.

You'd think I'd be clamoring to return to New Jersey, for all the reasons I was wary of moving in the first place. My job was less susceptible to layoffs when I worked in the New York office, so we had more financial security. I liked working in an office with dozens of colleagues. My son loved the school he attended, and I relished the opportunities available by living near New York City.

Yet we're not moving, and I have no interest in doing so. Not that I don't like New Jersey; it's one of the nicest places I've lived yet. No, I want to stay put because I like what my life has become in our new home, even in these few short months.

People move for various reasons -- for a job, for weather, for financial gain, for family. But often those reasons have nothing to do with why we stay. What we originally establish as the rationale is often just an excuse to do what we were too scared to do on our own. We just never realize it until we're given the opportunity to undo it -- only to find we don't want to.

* * *

The only thing I will say about Amy's resignation is that it wasn't an easy decision. She stewed over this for two months -- sometimes privately, sometimes exploding with frustration, sometimes calmly and sadly telling me of her worries. She feared being judged, and judging herself, a failure at the job. She hated knowing that she dragged her family halfway across the country for a job she soon wanted to leave, and felt an obligation to try and stick it out. She worried about our family's financial security, and fretted that her decision would put us in jeopardy.

My worries about our finances weren't as dramatic, and ultimately I wanted her to quit. Yes, money is an issue; Amy can't stay unemployed too long. But I'm not overly concerned. Other hospitals have wanted to hire her since our return to Baton Rouge. I have faith in Amy; she's extraordinarily good at what she does. I have no doubt she'll find a good job, and soon. So while Amy worries some about our finances, I don't. At least not for now.

The one topic that never popped up was whether we should return to New Jersey. Aside from joking about it with her on the day a blizzard blasted the East Coast, I never pressed for that discussion.

Why not? After all, this was a move made mainly for Amy's job -- one that I reluctantly agreed to because she had followed me and my career all these years. I was the trailing spouse this time, feeling a bit sorry for myself. Now that her job didn't exist, why didn't I argue that we should head back to our home in New Jersey?

There's a simple answer to that question: Because where we've finally landed really is home.

* * *

In all the years we've been married -- 13 and counting -- Amy has regularly talked of coming home. And I half-listened. Louisiana, where we both grew up, has always been her dream, not mine. I've loved living away, in places like Long Beach, Calif.; Seattle; and metro New York. Honestly, I never wanted to live here again. And I never really expected to.

Yet, when Amy was up for the chief nursing officer job last summer, I figured that financially, maybe it wasn't such a bad move. Yes, it would alter my career path. But it would benefit the family because of Amy's pay and because the job would probably open the door to a more lucrative career for her over the long run. We'd be able to afford a lifestyle we probably couldn't match in New Jersey. We could buy a new car, save for college, put more money aside for retirement.

For me, then, the move was largely about the money -- and keeping the promise I made to Amy about returning to Louisiana some day. The more ephemeral arguments about "home" and "family" and "quality of life" just didn't resonate.

But now that we're here and her job no longer is, I've been forced to reconsider my original rationale. After all, we can easily move back and I could slide back into my cubicle in New York. So why not?

Because suddenly it's the money that no longer resonates. All those things I never thought I cared about are all the things I now don't want to leave.

Yes, the transition to this new life has been exasperating at times, as I wrote about in a three-part series earlier this year. But through it all I've become really happy with my life, and with our life as a family.

I play goalie on a men's soccer team -- with a longtime friend. I bought a house at auction to rehab and resell -- with my best friend. I get to take my kids to school every morning and sit and chat or joke with my son while he's waiting for the bell -- without worrying about my commute or a train schedule. I'm home in the afternoon when he returns, and we can throw the ball for a while.

I love that it's crawfish season and on every other street corner it seems we can stop and buy several pounds for dinner that night. I love that I can listen to LSU baseball games on the radio again, and smell the sweet olive scenting the air. I love that Amy's family is nearby and that we can call her mom to baby-sit on short notice, or that I can call her dad or brother to help me handle a house or car issue. I love that our house cost less but we have more than double the space, with a backyard the kids and dog can play in.

Each of those items is small. Together, though, they begin to describe a life that is easier to live, less hectic, more enjoyable. Sure, daily stresses remain, but those stresses seem somehow less crucial because everything else seems so much more balanced.

What I'm saying is this: At the end of the day, the move really wasn't about Amy's job or Amy's money, despite what I told myself. For all its faults, Louisiana is the place I want to be. I just never looked deep inside myself, deep beyond the money, to realize just how important those family and quality-of-life issues are.

When you're forced to do so, you ultimately realize that home really is where the heart is. And my heart is in Louisiana.

-- Email your comments to jeff.opdyke@wsj.com.

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