Continued from Trailing & Being Trailed: Round 1
Moving from New Delhi to New York for my husband’s career had rendered me unemployable overnight, due to my dependent spouse visa status and lack of a strong local network. Assessing my options, I went back to school for a second master’s degree; my mother generously flew in to help care for our baby son while I worked hard to resume my career as a journalist.
Graduating from Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism in 2002 was exciting, but there was a shadow over this milestone because unlike most of my energized classmates, I could not yet apply for an internship or job. Until my American work authorization came through, my immigration status still meant that an employer would have to be willing to take on the significant hassle and cost of sponsoring me.
In the meantime, I applied for permanent residence in Canada, where I began working for The Globe and Mail in Toronto. The catch to this creative workaround? My job was the graveyard shift.
Once again, my mother flew in to the childcare rescue, leaving my father behind in Delhi; my husband visited on weekends. I spent six months in Toronto in a half daze, arriving to work at 11 p.m. and editing the newspaper’s website until 7 a.m. During the day, I would sleep, seeing my toddler only in the late afternoons and evenings. (This experience confirmed that I am not a nocturnal person; for six months, I never stopped feeling jet-lagged!) We couldn’t make any friends as a result of this odd set-up, compounded by the expectation that we would move back to New York (and stop paying rent in two countries) as soon as our green cards came through. This move was my lowest ever Gupte Scale score: a 5/15.
The instant I was cleared to work in the U.S., I quit my job and headed straight back to the Big Apple, where my heart — and hearth — had remained; my relieved mother returned to Delhi to rejoin my father and resume her own career.
Deciding to double down
As I started my new job at The Associated Press headquarters, in the same city as my husband, it seemed like our years of back-and-forth might finally be over… just kidding! Within a few months of my return from Canada, he accepted a job in central Connecticut, switching from consulting to a position that required less travel so he could spend more time with our son. Once again, we rented a second apartment and resumed our weekend rendezvous, either at “my” place on Roosevelt Island, NYC or “his” place in West Hartford, Conn. After a year, we decided to double down on the Nutmeg State, so that the three of us could finally live together again as a family.
With this relocation, a 11/15 on the Gupte Scale, everything suddenly fell into place: I got a job with a local weekly paper, we bought our first house and a second car, the ultimate symbol of the suburban dream we were embracing. We dived into remodeling the quaint ranch and began to throw block parties to get to know our neighbors better. We got a Costco membership and learned that unlike New York City, we’d have to jump into an automobile every time we ran out of milk or bread; we also had to figure out our own lawn care and snow removal…
After getting used to all these differences, we settled down into a relatively relaxing, laidback lifestyle. Initially, that seemed like a feature — but then it began bugging me. Feeling restless, I realized that I missed the hubbub of New York City life: its energy, its color, even its noise! My husband and I felt lost without a vast array of museums and easy access to all kinds of cultural and food-related events. Fewer international visitors, including our friends from college, dropped by anymore, now that we were a three-hour drive away from New York. Our new neighbors were lovely, but unlike our previous circles of pushy big city people and immigrants, they’d been part of this close-knit community for generations and didn’t instinctively make space for newcomers.
Most of all, I grew increasingly concerned about my career. On paper, things were heading in the right direction: I switched from a low-paid, low-stress job under a poor manager in Hartford to a low-paid, medium-stress job under a highly supportive manager in Waterbury. I enjoyed the work, especially getting to write a weekly business column. But my prospects for professional growth were undeniably ultra-low, given the declining state of the local print journalism industry. Newspapers were folding and newsrooms were shrinking. When a reporter from our two-member team left, that position was not filled. Our house and the yard were great — but my career would stay in low gear and eventually stall out the longer we stayed. All the sacrifices my parents, spouse and child had made for my success would hardly bear fruit.
My transition from New Delhi to New York had been challenging, but it felt like a net gain in lifestyle and opportunities. In contrast, moving to suburban Connecticut felt like a step back. I looked for every opportunity to return to the city. During one such visit, at a journalism conference, my resume caught the eye of an editor at Dow Jones & Co, the parent company of The Wall Street Journal. I interviewed for a corporate bonds reporter job — and got an offer.
A challenging choice
How thrilling to think my byline could be in The Wall Street Journal, a business reporter’s dream! Nine years earlier, single and childless, I would have packed my bags in a heartbeat. But as a wife and mother, I had to consider the ramifications and ripple effects of uprooting my family — including selling the house that we had just spent two years renovating and furnishing. No New York apartment was going to feel as spacious as that ranch with a gigantic basement and huge backyard; we’d also have to get rid of at least one car, if not both. My son had just skipped a grade and was in the process of adjusting to new classmates; how could I consider transferring him to a new elementary school at this specific juncture?
A well-meaning neighbor added to my confusion, asking why I would want my child to grow up in a big city, taking crowded subways everywhere, rather than in a quiet, much cleaner suburb with cars. My managing editor also warned me, “The bright lights of New York may be beckoning now, but as you get older, life in the city may not be as much fun.”
My mind reeled with questions:
- Should we live in Manhattan and send our son to a private school or move to another suburb so he could go to a highly-rated public school?
- Maybe this was also the right time to have another baby?
- What about my husband’s job?
- What if I made everyone move, then didn’t like my new job?
- Was all this disruption worth it, even with the substantial jump in salary and prestige?
- Was it selfish to uproot my whole family to chase my career? After all, even with my pay raise, my husband still had a much higher income — so did this move even make any financial sense?
The mental load was overwhelming, but together, we decided to take a chance on Round 3…
Find out what happened when Anusha’s husband became the trailing spouse, in Round 3 of her story.
