Dreams (Fleetwood Mac)

Yesterday it was Wilco’s Reservations. “I’ve got reservations, about so many things, but not about you.” It was actually Andi who made this song perfect, playing it for me over a shared AirPod as we woke up together on her 42nd birthday, snuggled under the covers in Josh and Annie’s guest bed in Covington Kentucky. The song captured the moment perfectly. Just two days before, she was considering not even coming along because of what I’d been putting her through as I agonized over my decision to take the job with Rocket. I’d accepted that job the Monday before, hitting send on an email just as easily as I might’ve pulled a door shut behind me, before suddenly realizing I’d accidentally locked myself out. I felt trapped by the decision, and the flawed process that led to it, with almost no consideration given to timing or the possibility that other options might exist. The agony was real. On Wednesday night in Gaithersburg, I decided for the first time in all my travels that I might go to Firebird’s bar and drink alone because I was so worried. And who should be standing there by the bar but Emergent’s whole executive team. Adam Havey gave me a nice greeting and asked why I was there, and I told him about my mission. His face pulled back in surprise and his eyes narrowed a little bit, and he told me how feeling guilty was some Chris Bell shit, and that I need to get over it, and go out there and do a great job, as if he were a football coach sending me onto the field. I was super thankful for the intervention and words of encouragement, but they weren’t enough to stop the screaming in my head. So the very next night when I returned home, I unloaded all of my fears and regrets on Andi, even suggesting that I might withdraw my acceptance. This after she’d already told family and coworkers of our decision to move to New Jersey, after so many ups and downs in the interview process, all the while making the whole ordeal about me. It was just about the last straw and I think she barely even slept that night. Somehow though, she relented and at a bar in Cincinnati the next day, Josh told us how much he believed that moving was great for a person’s character (“I’ve seen people who haven’t moved and they’ve become too comfortable”) and he correctly pointed out that we would have great adventures, knowing we could always return home. It was hearing Andi the next morning, singing the Wilco song softly, that made me realize that my home was laying next to me, and that everything was going to be all right.