Part of me has always envied the guys who have wives who make more than they do. The dream of the kept man with nothing to do all day but sleep in late, play video games, watch cartoons, and stay up late. My wife makes more than I do and I have to say, in the real world, it’s much less cool than I thought. This is not due to any sort of ridiculous threat to my masculinity or chest beating need to prove who the boss is. It’s mostly an issue of love now. I’ve never been particularly self-less, but as I add a wife, and soon a baby, to my family I’m finding my thought process changing. Other people are dependent on me now and that is frightening to someone who has just barely been able to support himself the last few years.
Of course at times like this, the easy thing to do is wonder about wrong choices or regret stupid mistakes. Yes, I’ve had a healthy share of personal and professional blunders, but honestly I wouldn’t change anything because those are the experiences that have formed me as the writer I am today. And I like the writer I am today. But now it’s no longer just about me. As much as I may not want to admit it, I think this is the reason I was single for so long. Low paying, transient jobs were fine when it was just me, but that’s not the sort of thing you raise a family on. I’m in a good place now, a good job with a good company, but I still make less than my wife.
In my dreams I’d make enough from my writing to support all of us in a nice life style. In my slightly more realistic dreams, I’d be able to support my wife and baby on just my day job salary. I know my parents did it, and I know her parents did it. I’m just not exactly sure how they made it work. It’s a complicated issue and one I’m sure I’m going to deal with for the foreseeable future, but as Guyot said here when he was guest blogging, I’m just “a guy working out his shit in public”
Good news alert: Two of my favorite shows, “The Big Bang Theory” and “How I Met Your Mother” return tonight. That makes me giddy.