I was 30, and for two years I hadn’t been running (the unhealthy kind) or looking for greener grass. I was in the best relationship I’d ever had, and I couldn’t have been happier.

At 31, I got a promotion that meant moving to a new town. Again, I couldn’t have been happier. It was only 30 minutes away, so we’d still be close to family. He decided to keep working in the town we’d left. I never questioned it.

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Fast forward to Thanksgiving, the year I turned 32. I was so settled that I was making brunch for his family and dinner for mine. I was barking orders, as I do when I’m trying to make everything perfect, and suddenly I heard my beloved say, “I’m leaving.”

Excuse me?

I’m pretty sure I asked if he’d be back before his family arrived. He cleared that misunderstanding up quickly. He was LEAVING, as in, he had met someone.

Excuse me?!

The survivor in me came out. I pushed the phone into his chest and told him to call his family. Brunch was off. I turned off the oven, tossed his keys out the door, and told him I never wanted to see him again. And since this was long before anyone worked from home, I never had to.

Now, at 59, I think I’m seeing things a bit more clearly.

He told me back then that the person he “met” was a dental hygienist. In the town we moved from. The town he never really left.

I didn’t let myself put the pieces together back then, or for decades after. But recently I remembered something:

I mean, really, did I honestly believe he needed that many cleanings?! He never, not once, complained of a toothache. And why would anyone choose to drive hours a day, every day, for years, when he could work close to home?

Maybe THIS is the wisdom that comes with aging:

Twenty-seven years later, the fog of self-preservation (or denial?) has lifted. Back then, I never in a million years would have thought he’d cheat on me. Now I think he was cheating the whole time we were together! Right? Am I right?

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In a Substack note yesterday, I shared a photo of my large “work” monitor looming behind my bright, sunny, smaller “home” monitor. In that post, I yammered on about how much I enjoy moving my small monitor in front of my large screen because that means it’s time to relax, create, not watch the clock, and, finally, do what I want to do. It’s how I fix what’s wrong with my 5-day work week: No creativity. No fun. No coloring. No non-technical reading or writing. All business. Politics galore.

That weekly monitor shuffle describes and illustrates my entire work life. I went to university to teach elementary school. Then I got married, had a beautiful baby, and divorced before she left Pre-K. Raising my daughter on a teacher’s salary was out of the question. So, I started applying for higher-paying jobs. I applied for and was offered a marketing position. I was thrilled. It sounded fun! It wasn’t. The role was in a very technical field, and fun wasn’t part of the job description. In fact, the work was very prescriptive. I am Gen X, so we were taught/learned/heard that you don’t change professions or jobs unless things are bad. Really bad.

So, I stuck with it, and twenty-plus years later I’m still in the industry. I was promoted to Vice President, so there’s that. I am proud of this accomplishment, given I had no degree or formal education in this field (I would argue elementary education was perfect training, but that’s another post). What I do have is no work-life balance; I’m a workaholic; I rarely leave the house; coffee is my favorite food; headaches are a way of life; and I am on conference calls for work way more than I talk with my family.

Very shortly after that promotion to VP, I decided it was time to “fix” things. For all the reasons I just listed plus more, I had had it. So, what did I do to fix it? I reached out to colleagues who knew me professionally and said:

Seemed reasonable. And, well, that is exactly what I got. Sort of.

For several years now, I have worked at a firm where many people still do not know my name, let alone my capabilities or experience. People, most half my age, teach me skills in areas I used to lead. And, once they see I can do the work, they pile more responsibilities on me than I had as a VP. So, did I fix things? Nope. Do I look forward to weekends and moving that smaller home monitor in front of my ridiculously large work monitor so I can do all the creative, fun, delightful, life-saving activities I love? More. than. ever.

So, what’s my next big idea to fix my work situation? Convince my husband to fund my existence for two, maybe seven, years (until I retire) so I can work full-time on my magazine. I think it’s my best idea yet. He doesn’t think so…

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