I Never Intended to Move to Idaho
To be very clear and upfront, I had zero intention of moving to Idaho. Ever.
Yes, my husband was from Idaho. Yes, we got married in Idaho. Yes, we have family in Idaho. But never, ever did I plan to actually live there.
I still can’t believe the word “Yes” even left my mouth.
We were quietly walking through the cemetery. The mid-day sun was hot in Las Vegas after we had just laid Ben’s grandfather to rest. My in-laws had taken our kids for a few minutes so we could collect ourselves and get a breath of fresh air. Ben chuckled with a smirk after looking down at his phone. It had been a long day of crying and heavy emotions, so it was nice to see him smile.
I asked him what he was laughing at, and he told me that the mine in his hometown had an interesting job opening. Though we were away for the weekend in Las Vegas for the memorial, we were happily settled in my hometown, a suburb outside of Chicago.
As we passed under the big beautiful trees of the veterans’ cemetery, he knew to not even ask me what I thought of the job opportunity.
This was not the first time I’ve been asked this question. Ben has been in the mining industry for almost his entire career. And when I say mining, I don’t mean data mining - I mean gold, silver, phosphate, dig-stuff-out-of-the-ground mining.
If you’re not up to speed in the mining industry, mines are never in cute suburban towns. They are never in bustling trendy up-and-coming urban oases.
Mines are in the middle of nowhere. Always.
The fact that we lived in a cute suburb on the outskirts of Chicago and he was able to work in the mining industry was what I can only describe as an act of God. Shortly after moving to Chicago to marry me 10 years earlier, the Idaho mining company he started his career at decided to move their headquarters to Chicago. (For the record, there are no mines in Chicago. There are no mines close to Chicago. There is no reason a mining company should move to Chicago. Did I mention this was an act of God?)
Throughout our marriage, he had come home from work at least once a year with this question:
“Hey…there’s a job opening in [insert random middle of nowhere mining town here]. What do you think?”
To which, my response was always one of the three options below:
Say “No”
Laugh and say “No”
Roll my eyes, laugh, and say “No”
As we walked under those massive trees shading us from the hot Nevada sun, he already knew my answer to the question. He knew not to even ask.
But today, for the first time, “No” didn’t feel right.
Maybe it was the emotional drain from an entire day of crying, hearing heart-string-pulling eulogies, and burying his grandfather. I didn’t have any fight left in me. Or maybe it was one of those Holy Spirit moments where words that aren’t yours just come out of your mouth on their own.
Or a combination of both and another episode of God’s perfect timing.
Because without any prompting or any expectation from him, I heard myself say: “You should apply for it.”
Even as I said the words, I thought to myself Why did I just say that? I didn’t regret saying it. What came out just felt right.
Wait, did I just suggest we move to the middle of nowhere? Did I just encourage a cross-country move away from everything I’ve ever known?
We didn’t even look at each other when I said it. There was no surprised sideways looks or questioning what I had just said. We just kept walking - silently, peacefully, exhausted - through the cemetery.
We weren’t upset or excited. We were just moving forward - literally and figuratively.
Less than 100 days later, we moved our entire lives to Idaho.
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