A Smaller Version of Our Lives

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­I used to stand in the kitchen of my 3500-square-foot dream house complete with swimming pool, half basketball court, Jacuzzi bathtub and walk-in closet the size of a small bedroom and think to myself, “How did I get so lucky?” I’m a poorish girl from a lower-middle class neighborhood ­raised by a hardworking single mom on hand-me-down clothes and haircuts from the barber college. What blessed thing did I do in a previous life to deserve so much? Now, almost four years after moving out of my dream house to one slightly more than half its size—no pool, my clothes smashed into a “too small” closet, a bathtub so small it’s only been used once by an adult, and a basketball hoop neglected, hanging over the driveway, home of our two parked cars that won’t fit into the garage packed full of things that don’t fit into this smaller version of our lives—I stand in my new kitchen, the size of my former closet and think the same thing…How did I get so lucky? But I have to admit it’s taken me quite awhile to feel this way again.

My husband was an executive vice president in an industry so full of hubris it closed its eyes to the technology that would end up redefining it and in turn resulted in him, and countless executives like him, becoming not only unemployed, but also unemployable. A month being out of work became six months and then a year and so on.

He now does consulting from home and has some steady clients and good results, but so does everyone else in his former position—competition is fierce and independent work is in short supply. He tried switching to different industries, willing to start at the bottom and work his way up, but employers couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around a smart, successful man in his mid-forties being willing to do a job for less money and a less important title. He was willing, but sadly, they weren’t.