But, money…

Oh my God, I hate surprises.

I would love to say I’m not a control freak, but changes in plans, unexpected events and abrupt news can send me into a PTSD-like mode. I can’t think straight, my chest gets tight and it feels like a catastrophe. Which is weird, because I do have a moderately-high risk tolerance and like the occasional adventure. Apparently though? I only like it when I’m aware that we are going into unpredictable territory. Like moving halfway across the country to a house I bought without John ever seeing it. It’s a super fun adventure when I’m literally in the driver’s seat.

I would love to say that with age, I’m becoming more resilient when the sand shifts under my feet, relying on 46 years of things basically turning out alright. Like when we suffered through four miscarriages, not knowing that in the following years, we’d have three beautiful children (that would make me want to pull out my hair and wring their lovely little necks).

I would love to say that deep down, I believe that life is about not about the Destination, but rather about the Journey. But seriously, shit like that makes me insane. Guys, the Destination does matter…especially when the Journey is full of these insufferable surprises. “Like, where are we even going?!” I want to scream!

And, on top of the shock I experience as a result of said surprise, I also am super judgy of myself. Asking, “why am I like this?” or “what is wrong with you Gretchen?” or “can’t you handle a little excitement now and then?” The self-judging is a double-whammy. It might just be healthier to say, “Oh my God, I hate surprises,” and move on with my life.

Sooooo, speaking of surprises…. John resigned from his 23-year career with IBM last Monday.

Without telling me.

Without a new job.

Without a cozy, thick and warm financial security blanket.

Resigned. After over two decades. Without a plan.

And. I’m getting dreadlocks next week, rendering me basically (and blissfully) unemployable.

Also, I’d like to say, just once more, in case you missed it the first time, that John didn’t tell me until after his conversation with his boss. As in, I was really, REALLY surprised.

That Monday, I was sitting in the kitchen with the kids after school. It was about 3:30 on a warm afternoon and the three of them were getting snacks, bickering with each other, reporting on their days and planning dinner around their swim practices and homework. As per usual with a “work from home” husband, John walked through the kitchen, towards the back door, with his ear buds in. I overheard him say, with a sharp edge to his voice, “What exactly do you expect me to do?” just before he walked out of the house.

Well, his aggressive tone certainly caught my attention, activating my monkey mind. Who could he be talking to? My first thought was this obnoxious $1000 medical bill that we’re arguing about with health insurance folks. Then I wondered if perhaps he was talking to his dad, about his brother, who recently got his girlfriend, who sadly struggles with addiction, pregnant. With twins. Who else could it be? Who else would upset him like that, besides our 16-year old son, David who was innocently sitting in the kitchen with me.

A few minutes passed and I decided that it was urgent that I take out the garbage. John hadn’t come back inside and I just had a funny feeling rumbling around inside of me…something was up, and it felt weighty already. I knew he couldn’t leave in his car, because David had parked right behind him, blocking the driveway, so he had to be close by. I spotted him down at the end of our driveway, pacing. He turned, ripped out his earbuds with a yank and walked towards me.

“Who was that on the phone?” I asked him as he methodically coiled up his phone cable.

“That was Michael, I just gave him my resignation,” he said as he walked by me and through the back gate.

Both hands went over my mouth and I followed him slowly into the back garden. Speechless, I just looked at him like that, standing on our brick walkway, in the dazzling sunshine of a spring afternoon. We just stood there. Looking at each other. Birds chirping, air conditioners whirring, dogs barking down the block.

“It’s good, Gretchen, this is going to be really good. I am already walking taller and I know this is just what I have to do right now. This is going to be good, very good, exactly what we need.”

I sat down, hard, on the adirondack. He had his hands in his pockets, mini-pacing now. Hands still on my mouth, I just sat there. Over across the lawn, I spied the brown yard waste bag I had been filling with weeds earlier in the day, figuring I’d have to go puke in there. Going back into the house was not an option at the moment. Better not alarm the kids until I understood what was going on. “I’m going to have to vomit out here,” I thought.

John continued trying to explain what ghastly problem warranted giving his resignation. “Michael told me they cancelled my next 8-week project and I wasn’t happy with their plan, again, which was basically nothing, again, citing budget cuts, again, underutilizing me, again…”

“But, money,” I squeaked out. “But. Money.”

“We’ll be fine, babe.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?!”

“Yes…..and well, no.”

He finally sat down next to me in the other adirondack and exhaled. I let him talk. Over the next few hours, my nausea lifted as my anger softened. At some point later that evening, we were walking together on the high school track, waiting for our youngest to finish swim practice.

“Babe,” I said, in a bizarre moment of generosity and compassion, “So. I’m a good wife and I want to be an even better wife to you right now. What can I do for you honey? How can I best support you?” Clearly, I thought he’d just say “extra blow jobs?” or something along those lines.

But instead, he stopped and said, “Gretchen, just, please, please, don’t freak out.”

I shot him my classic wide-eyed-have-you-lost-your-mind look and he continued, “Well, I guess you can freak out, but promise me you won’t stay freaked out.”

That was almost two weeks ago and I think that his one request was Pure Genius. As soon as my “oh my God, I hate surprises” brain takes over and rattles with words like: terrified, unsafe, fury, distrust, discount shopping, budget wine and bankruptcy…I remember what he said, “Babe, just promise me you won’t freak out.”

My not freaking out is about the only thing I can control at the moment. I bet “resilience” will become my new favorite word and I’m already rolling my eyes at myself when I think, “maybe the Journey is all there is, because honestly, our current Destination is a bit hazy.” gag.

Do you guys struggle with surprises too? Is it only the big life surprises that you hate, or do even little daily hiccups throw you off course? How do you not freak out? Oh, and also, I’m gonna need some of your favorite cheap wine suggestions.