This post could also be titled ‘The Next Big Adventure for the Goetz
Fam’ or ‘Follow the Maize Brick Road’ or ‘Happy 36th Birthday,
Jack.’ But I think I like ‘A Sign From God’ best.
Growing up, as a high schooler, and throughout all my adult life, my
Mom has always been known to say—when she thinks the universe is conspiring to
fall in your favor, when she thinks something is ‘happening for a reason,’ when
she thinks that too many coinkidinks (Steph-speak for ‘coincidence’) are
aligning to call them coinkidinks—‘It’s a Sign From God.’ She said this when
she saw my first car ever, a blue hatchback 1987 Toyota Tercel, at least three
different times in a matter of days when running errands on the Westside of
Cincinnati. It had a ‘For Sale’ sign taped to its back window and when she saw
it for the third time, she finally called. The driver was a sweet old little
Italian man who I think reminded her of a combination of Pawpaw and my beloved
pediatrician, Dr. Ciambrella, which was another Sign From God this car and me
were meant to be. A few days later, it was mine. It was a great little first
car.
Mom used this ‘A Sign From God’ logic for matters trivial and small
to significant and (deep) of the heart. Jack coming into my life when he did,
and being the doting uncle of small nieces and nephews? A Sign From God that he
was ‘The One.’ Those must-have red Frye boots on sale for 70% off original
price on Zappos? A Sign From God that she should of course buy them (duh). The
pennies she finds at the most opportune moments and in the oddest of places? A
Sign From God that Mamaw and Pawpaw are smiling down on her.
 |
| My 'Mamaw and Pawpaw giving me signs' collection |
This famous Momism has, logically or illogically, depending on how you look at it, formed most of my
reasonable thinking as an adult. I mean, what is a more rational thought to
correspond to any given event than, ‘It’s a Sign from God?’ For things that
happen to me, to Jack, to the kids, to loved ones and friends—I think to
myself, sometimes out loud, sometimes in my own head, ‘It’s A Sign From God.’
When Pili was in my belly and I thought she was a Jude all along, then I
discovered the rosary I bought at La Basilica del Pilar in Zaragoza hiding in
the first drawer of the changing table in the baby’s nursery? A Sign From God
that who I thought was Jude was in fact Pilar. When Jack and I went to Ann
Arbor Michigan for a long weekend in August of 2013 to celebrate his 36
th
birthday and we had so many revelatory moments there, and a few months later a
great job position opened up at the University of Michigan that was right up my
alley so I applied, and a few months after that, I was offered said job and
took it? A total Sign From God that we were being lead to Ann Arbor.
Yes, that’s right. In case you didn’t read through the lines, in case
you’ve missed our announcements on social media, I’ll say it for you short and
sweet:
The Road to Ann Arbor
The road to Ann Arbor begins in…Ann Arbor. It began on Jack’s 36th
birthday: March 24th, 2013. Since he’s impossibly difficult to buy
for, I tend to gift him a weekend just the two of us somewhere (which he always
jokes is a gift for me instead of for him), since time for just ‘us’ is
precious, rare, and, according to the priest that married us (good ole Fr.
Don), the best gift we could ever give to one another. For his 35th
birthday, we were in Cologne, Germany, a day trip that I took him on during my
France/Germany campaign/tour for work. I knew that his 35th birthday
was going to be hard to top—we had turkey legs, cabbage, goulash and German
draft beer at a restaurant on the Rhine, for Heaven’s sake—so I already felt at
a loss. I toyed with a few locations that we’d always been interested in going
to but had never visited: Charleston, South Carolina; Austin, Texas; Baltimore,
Maryland—all pretty expensive to get to and would imply long travel days, drive
or fly, so no-go (remember ‘time’ is a rare commodity for us). I pretty quickly
narrowed it down to places that were drivable, i.e., within 6 hours of
Bloomington: Nashville, Tennessee; St. Louis, Missouri…then Ann Arbor came to
mind. Even though Jack’s birthday is in March, sadly our next free weekend that
wasn’t during the craziness of his spring and my work summer schedule was in
late August. I didn’t exactly want to take him anyplace south or on the same
lines of latitude as Bloomington in August, which can be stifling, sticky and
just plain miserable, so I decided to take him north to Ann Arbor. In addition
to it being drivable and up north, we love college towns. We just love them. We
try to make pit stops in college towns whenever possible when traveling with
our kiddos, and universities are one of the things we always look for when road
tripping, in addition to churches and libraries.
 |
| Jack admiring U of M's law library, straight out of Hogwarts |
My hubby was pretty excited when he opened his present, which was the
reservation for the Bed and Breakfast I had us staying in, Cadgwith II. I hoped he
would be, given Jack has a long history with Ann Arbor that began well before I
was ever in his life: his longtime girlfriend, who he dated before me, went to
college at U of M and the two of them had some ‘difficult’ weekends there, as
tends to happen when one person in a couple leaves to go to college far away
and the other stays behind in the couple’s hometown. Since Jack could separate
the town of Ann Arbor from the circumstances and since I’m thankfully not petty
about things like exes, we didn’t let his past Ann Arbor visits bother us one
bit. In fact, life got so busy from March onward that we didn’t even think much
at all about our long weekend until Mom drove to Bloomington to pick up the
kids and take them to Cincinnati and we gassed up and were on our way. Hooty
hoo for road trips!
The drive was a blast. The last time we’d taken a road trip like
that, just the two of us was, I believe, to Lexington, Kentucky when Pilar was
in utero. The five hours flew by as we made pit stops for Dunkin’ Donuts, junk
food, bathroom breaks in small Hoosier towns and we talked for hours and hours
about blogs we had been following and Joe and P and what we loved about driving
through Indiana (fields, barns, country roads). I know this because I wrote
about it in my journal in hopes of turning it into a blog post, which never
happened. Finally here I am blogging about our long weekend in Ann Arbor—except
now it’s to say we are moving there.
 |
| The kids heading to Cincy--and we on our way to A2 |
As we headed into town, the anticipation building for me as a
first-time visitor, we found it to be a lot like Bloomington: lots of trees
(hence the ‘Arbor’ part of Ann Arbor), quaint homes tucked away on side streets,
a lively downtown and a stunning campus. We made our way to our Bed and
Breakfast, hidden nicely away in one of the neighborhoods within walking
distance to town and campus, and we just sat still for a few moments on the
back deck of the house: I reading in the hammock and Jack sitting in one of the
Adirondack chairs facing the park behind the house. We were still and happy and
having some peaceful moments to ourselves. Our phones were nowhere to be heard
or even seen. We were in no hurry to do anything.
I had paid a little extra to make sure we were the only couple there
that weekend (they usually housed two couples), so we even leisurely napped
that afternoon, the windows open and the cool breeze sweeping through the pale
blue bedroom. When we woke up from our nap, Jack and I started
talking about
the kids, which we inevitably do when we are away from them. We chuckled about our photo shoot as a family
that we had taken the weekend before (it was kind of disastrous, but you’d
never know it), what Joe and P’s most recent shenanigans were, and then he said
to me something I had been waiting to hear from him for quite some time: he
said he was ready for us to add to the family. I had been ready for a while (in
fact, I was advocating for it when Pili was just eight months old—apparently
I’m crazy?), but Jack was not, and if there is one thing I know (and actually
really appreciate) about my husband, it is that he needs to come to decisions
on his own timeline. He may take a while to come to them, but when he does, he
is 110% committed. (Author’s note: the exception to this rule can sometimes be
house projects. ;) This revelation was the first of many that weekend—and I was
high on life, smiling from ear to ear as we left the B & B to head to dinner
uptown that night. It was A Sign From God, Jack telling me he was ready, to
think about adding to our family again, a sign that I had been seeing (more
like hearing: at Mass, at talks on retreats, etc.) for the months ever since
Pawpaw died, but that Jack must have finally heard himself and was ready to
verbalize to me.
 |
| Jack relaxing at the B & B |
It was a quintessential Jack and Steph night in a quintessential
college town: dinner at an Irish pub in their outside area seating, followed by
a walk discovering Main Street’s charm, followed by dessert, followed by more
conversation as we walked part of campus. We headed back to the B & B and,
for good time’s sake, watched television on the couch, me resting my feet on
Jack’s lap and falling asleep while he channel surfed. I could not remember the
last time we did that—partly because we didn’t have cable anymore at home (we
don’t have time to watch TV!) and partly because I’m lucky if I can keep my
eyes open for ten minutes after the kids go to bed. That night we slept like
babies and woke up with the sun—then went back to sleep because we could. Our
host made a delicious breakfast, then we spent some quiet time on the porch,
and once again headed uptown for more adventuring.
We had scheduled to meet two friends and dear colleagues of mine that
day for lunch, Nick and Lorenzo. Nick, Lor and I were in our Master’s program
together at IU and all three of us taught for the IU Honors Program under my
former boss. While I stopped at my Master’s, they soldiered on through their
PhD programs. When I assumed directorship of the IU Honors Program in 2008,
they were still teaching for the Program so we got to work together with the
Program once again. I had two fantastic summers of working with them as Director
while they were in León, Spain. After those two summers, they each got faculty positions
at different universities, but had been recently both ended up together at U of
M in the Department of Romance Languages and Literatures. Jack and I both were
excited to see them again, and plus, we were set to have lunch at a great new
eatery in Ann Ar
bor, FritaBatidos, known for it’s Cuban-inspired burgers and fries. Good times.
While we were catching each other up on life in general and our
respective jobs, they asked me how the Program was going. Truthfully, I had
blocked work out of my mind for the
weekend—that was my rule, and that’s because it was a helluva summer, by far
the toughest one I had endured with the Program. I thought 2012’s summer was
tough—but 2013 knocked it out of the ballpark. Ya see, whether we have a tough
summer or an easy one, I’m the one in charge so I’m busy no matter what. For
seven intense weeks in June and July, I’m essentially on call to help
troubleshoot problems big and small; the intensity is amplified by the fact
that our students pledge a ‘Language Commitment,’ which means they vow to speak
only the language of their host country, in an effort to accelerate their
linguistic gains—this, in turn, means that the teams of teachers and I pick up
the communication with their parents, who sometimes need just as much (if not
more) support and coaching as their students. So what ends up happening is that
my birth kiddos, who are free and easy and just want to ‘be’ over the summer,
see me chained to my phone and computer taking care of my Program kiddos, the
very opposite of free and easy. That makes my heart hurt. It wasn’t so much an
issue when the kids were little—but now that they are bigger, it’s a big deal
for me. A big deal and, as I was starting to see, a deal breaker.
As I began to answer Nick and Lorenzo’s questions about work, I
surprised myself by talking about the Program with a bit of a sharp edge in my
voice, which I think they found surprising, too since both they and I know my
best quality as Director of the Program is my unfailing loyalty to it and my
absolute, hardcore belief in it: I recognize and treasure that the experience
of these impressionably-aged students going abroad for seven weeks is highly
impactful and, for so many, shapes the path of their future. Heck, I know that
teaching for it shaped the path of my future, and I wasn’t even a student of
the Program. So to hear myself speaking about it with doubt and a tinge of
resentment towards it was the second revelation for me that weekend: I might be
reaching the end of my run as Director and, in order to be fair to me and this
Program that I love, I needed to be careful moving forward so as not to hit
complete burnout, which could or could not be possibly followed by total
meltdown phase. I interpreted it as another Sign From God, saying that it might
be time to reevaluate and consider other job possibilities.
After lunch, Jack and I went back to the B & B and took another
leisurely nap, then explored the campus some more before having his birthday
celebration dinner at a delicious German restaurant with home-brewed
German-esque beers. It was an excellent throw back to his 36th
birthday when we were actually in Germany. We were in the basement of this
place, they had an awesome 90s-inspired playlist going and my husband and I
were hanging out like two college kids madly in love. Life. Was. Good. Such a
great night, maybe even belongs in our top ten.
 |
| Cruising home from our dinner. See the Big House? |
When we take trips together like this, we are always reminded how
important it is to do so—we get energized, rejuvenated and we realize we’ve
still got it and our relationship runs much deeper than just parenting, which
consumes so much of our daily lives. I find myself looking across the table at
my husband during moments like this, realizing that I love him more now than I
did when we first met, when we got married, when we had our two kiddos—you get
the idea. I’d say that’s a very good thing. I treasure these trips we get to
take with each other and feel blessed that my kiddos are so well-loved and
cared for by their grandparents that we have no qualms ever leaving them: our
kids love it, we love it, and I think the grandparents love it most of all.
Everybody wins.
The next morning, our last day of the weekend, we were scouting out
which church to go to Mass at (recall going to Mass is one of our favorite
things to do when traveling because we get to experience the c
hurches; for
Jack’s 35th birthday, we went to Mass at the Dome in Cologne). Ann Arbor is larger
than Bloomington, and its Catholic
population is also larger, so we had several
options to choose from. We settled rather arbitrarily on St. Thomas the Apostle
because of its location near campus, Zingerman’s Deli, which we wanted to eat
at before leaving, and also because it was along an easy route to exit town. We
also chose it because its time worked out best for our schedule of wanting to
get on the road before noon.
We pulled up to the church and found it nestled on the corner of a
very picturesque street literally just a few blocks from campus. The inside was
breathtaking and everything I want a church to be: beautiful stained glass
windows, stunning pillars hoisting it up, a beautiful altar and, my very
favorite feature of a church, a massive organ. Since we didn’t have the kids
with us, we were actually on time—and I actually got to glance ahead at the
readings, which is always welcomed and gets me into a nice frame of mind.
Nothing in particular struck me about the readings that Sunday, but the
priest’s homily most certainly did: he talked about t
he life of Saint Francis
of Assisi, a saint whom I’ve always been familiar with, but took a recent
greater interest in since my Pawpaw’s death a few months before. Pawpaw was a third order
Franciscan and his and Mamaw’s home was adorned with St. Francis statures, a
birdbath, knick knacks, etc., so naturally I started to learn more about Saint
Francis as a way of feeling closer to Pawpaw now that he wasn’t with us. To hear
the priest talking about Saint Francis when he was already so much on my mind
gave me chills—and then the offertory song was ‘Make Me a Channel of Your
Peace,’ St. Francis’ prayer, now one of my favorites and one of the songs
played at Pawpaw’s funeral Mass. I interpreted the priest’s homily and the song
playing as a quite literal ‘Sign From God’ that both He and Pawpaw were
blessing Jack’s revelation earlier in the weekend: we were getting the green
light from above to add to the family. Or was it the green light for something
more? Tears sprang from my eyes at Mass, and Jack and I interlaced fingers and
held hands, another nice thing we get to do when not at church with the kiddos
(we’re usually busy referring or picking up Cheerios or taking one of the kids
to the potty when Joe and P are with us). What seemed like an arbitrary choice
for Mass on our part was not so arbitrary. God knew what he was doing sending
us to church on that day.
After Mass, we went to Zingerman’s as planned, then headed out of town to get back to
our kids. We both commented on what a great town Ann Arbor was and that while
we weren’t usually in the habit of adding towns we’d love to live in to our
list (there was no need to—why ever leave a town as fantastic as Bloomington?),
we’d be willing to put Ann Arbor on it. We also said it was a town we should
definitely visit again. That’s when I made a mental note that we’d be back at
some point, either to visit or for an extended stay. That’s when Jack chuckled
and when I asked him why, he said that on the way back from one of his visits
to see his ex-girlfriend at U of M, he made a pit stop in Lima, Ohio, and vowed
out loud that he would never visit Ann Arbor again. Ha!
Our drive back was even gabbier than the drive there because we had a
lot to talk about from the weekend, including our confirmed desire to add to
the family. Once back in Bloomington, we both seemed to have a renewed and
refreshed perspective—Jack’s business really took off and I managed to maneuver
my way out of my work funk and get to a place where I was excited about what I
was doing again. Part of that was because my colleagues in my supervising unit
had finally bought into what I had been telling them pretty much ever since I
started directing the Program: I needed help! They had approved my most recent
request to hire a full-time staff member (up until then, I was the only
full-timer—and while we had three super awesome hourlies believe you me, we needed
more staffing; I’m not claiming that our office does rocket science, but we put
the processes and procedures in place all year round to send 260 or so minors abroad to ten different sites in
five different countries—that requires oodles and oodles of coordination and
cross-cultural communication, while at the same time complying to Indiana
University policy), so I was feeling better about preparing to head up another
summer with the Program. Things were lining up well to think about procreation
at chez Goetz, which tends to happen late fall/early winter so that a babe can
arrive comfortably during my slower season (Pili was born in August, Joe was
born in September—you do the math!). Then I got a possible Sign From God.
When Opportunity Knocks…it
isn’t always loudly
In late September, Nick sent me an e-mail about a faculty position
that was posted in U of M’s Department of Romance Languages and Literatures. It
was for the position of Director of Elementary Language Programs. The job
posting was right up my ally: 1) it was the perfect marriage of administration
and teaching (I longed to get back in the classroom after almost six solid
years of administration!), 2) it was a newly created position (I love the
challenge of charting my own course and shaping a position—and I especially
love not following in anyone else’s footsteps because I’m the kinda gal that thrives
on figuring it out and being forced to get creative and resourceful finding my
own way of doing things, and 3)by virtue of being a faculty position, it meant I
worked on the academic calendar, which translates to summers OFF (?!) and a
more flexible schedule that I could create myself (Side note: I had also
recently discovered something I think I always knew: I’m not an 8-5er—I just
don’t fill well into that mold; the kind of work that intrigues me is the kind
of work that can’t easily fit into the 8-5 work day; in fact, I will continue
to argue until I leave that my current job is NOT an 8-5 job, either, though I
can’t seem to convince the powers that be of this).
But in my mind I had just mentally committed to staying on with the
Program, especially knowing I was going to get to hire an additional staff
member. Plus, Jack was right where he needed to be professionally, and our kids
were getting more and more entrenched at St. Charles School while Jack and I
were getting more and more entrenched in the parish community. News flash: when I commit to something, I
commit to it—this is usually a blessing, very rarely a curse. In the few
instances it’s been a curse, it’s because I commit to making something work
that has simply run its course—and I pull my hair out and bust booty to make it
work way beyond a point that becomes enjoyable, or maybe even healthy. So for
better or for worse, I was committed to the idea of me staying on with the
Program. Still—the thought crossed my mind: perhaps this is, in fact, A Sign
From God calling me to reevaluate—again (but didn’t I just reevaluate and come
to the conclusion that I wanted to stay?). Per the usual, I sat on the idea a
bit then took my thoughts to Jack who, hands down, suggested I apply and
supported me every step of the way. “What have you got to lose in simply
applying?” he said. Well, our whole life in Bloomington for
one, I reminded him. “What have we got to lose?” he then asked,
stating very matter-of-factly that his job could be done anywhere and what
better time to move the kids than before they start grade school? He was right.
I love the simplicity with which he is able to view certain things in life—duh,
of course I should at the very least apply. But in the back of my mind was the
thought that I’ve never applied to a job I didn’t get (I don’t say that
cockily, I just say it because I’ve applied to so few jobs)—and this position
just seemed the perfect fit for me. I think right then I knew that if I applied
for this job, I would be a very strong candidate. The weekend I heard about the
job, something in my gut told me that a year from then we might just be
Michiganders. All the signs we got while in Ann Arbor? They were far too
powerful to ignore—and as it turned out, there were more signs to come.
The weekend I found out about the job posting happened to be the
weekend we were in Cincinnati celebrating Joseph’s 4th birthday.
Logically, then, I told Mom and Bill about the position that had been posted.
Mom right away gave me a look that said ‘DUH! It’s a Sign From God’ (yes,
people, she has a ‘look’ that says that—remember this is her mantra, after
all). Bill made it a point to seek me out that weekend at an opportune time and
chat me up about the job. I trust his advice in career matters immensely, as he
is a man that has made a name for himself due to a tremendous work ethic
coupled with his business savviness. He was telling me a story—and we all know
he’s a good storyteller—the moral of it being that when opportunity knocks, it
doesn’t always break down your door and present itself boldly, rather,
“Opportunity gently knocks and says to you in a whisper, ‘Do you want to come
along?’” Bill said. In other words, this little whisper of a sign might be
disguising a big, bold opportunity—and it was up to me to recognize it. His
point was well taken.
 |
| Joe's B-Day weekend, when I found out about the job |
By the way, have you ever applied to a faculty position before? Talk
about commitment! Uf! It’s a process that involves revisions upon revisions of
your CV, cover letter, teaching philosophy, etc., hunting down all of your
previous evaluations, then seeking out letters of recommendation. All the
while, you are wondering—is ANY job worth this much fuss? I had never applied
to a faculty position before—mostly because I didn’t ever want one, and also
because I didn’t have a PhD, which automatically took me out of the running for
most of what was out there. Then again, I had never found a faculty position
that I felt was as compelling and well-aligned with my experience, passions and
professional long term goals as this one—and since it required so much
administrative experience, they made the PhD ‘preferred’ instead of required,
so not only did I fit the bill in terms of education requirements, very few PhD
holders would likely be able to come to the table with as much administrative
experience as I had (most PhDers bust their tail on research, as they should,
which leaves very little time for practical experience in administration). I
have no idea how some of my colleagues seeking faculty positions apply to
multiple jobs a year. It is exhausting! After the kids went to bed at night,
I’d work on my materials (couldn’t do that during the day, as I already had a
job to attend to!)—and pray to Pawpaw (and later Mamaw) that things turn out
exactly as God meant them to be, whatever that was.
In the meantime, I have to say that I felt like a traitor. Knowing I
was applying to another job, even though I had no idea what the outcome would
be, made me feel like I wasn’t being fair to the Program. That was hard for me,
given one of the qualities I value most in others and myself is loyalty. A nice
pep talk and great advice from a dear friend (thanks, Mr. Tolan) to embrace both the
possibility of staying with the Program and getting to take it to a new level
(we were set to launch in China and Chile—the first time our Program went to
Asia and South America, respectively, the following summer) and the
possibility of a new job with all kinds of professional opportunities and
pathways. I liked that idea and adopted it from that point forward; this way, I
would not be disappointed in either outcome and I was mentally prepared for
both.
My tag team angels
In October, Jack and I got to escape by ourselves to St. Pete Beach,
Florida. It was another blessed weekend of long dinners, talks, walks (this
time on the beach), nights on the back porch and days doing what each of us
likes to do most in Florida (read by the pool/beach for me and golf/drink beer
during the day for him). I s
nuck some time away to blog about Pawpaw, too, which I had wanted to
do ever since he died, but couldn’t find the words or courage to. I felt his
presence with me during many a moment that weekend and in my blog post about
him, I wrote that I sensed po
ssible opportunity for change might be on the
horizon and asked him to help show me the way, or ‘The Yellow Brick Road,’ as a manner of speaking
about ou favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz. I also wrote that one of my
requests of him was to help Mamaw not be afraid to join him over the rainbow,
as I sensed a fear of death from her that he did not have. Not even a few days
after publishing my post about Pawpaw, Mamaw passed away. In typical Carole
Tallarigo fashion, she threw us all for a loop and slipped out of this life
without anyone making a fuss over her. She wasn’t sick, her breathing didn’t
seem worse than normal, her appetite was as good as ever—bless her heart, I
think her body just gave out on her. And when she left us, our hearts ached
(still do).
 |
| My gorgeous Mamaw, one of my greatest heroes |
It is a strange feeling to lose your grandparents. It feels like part
of your childhood is now gone, even though you still carry the memories of them
with you.
 |
| The three of us at my high school graduation |
It feels like you are rudderless, because the matriarch and patriarch
of your family are no longer pulling your family together as they did before.
 |
| The Tallarigos--what a group! Mamaw and Pawpaw, always at the center. |
It feels terrifying, because they provided a buffer, if you will,
between your parents and death—I recognize any one of us can die at any time,
but it would seem that, in the natural order of things, one’s grandparents die,
then one's parents, etc., so having that buffer gone made me think much more closely
about what I would do if my parents were gone. How could I ever imagine that? I
couldn’t. It broke my heart to think that was my Mom’s new reality.
 |
| My Mom and Dad--I could never imagine life without them |
It feels like a void that only new life can fulfill. The day of my
Pawpaw’s funeral is the exact day we found out Colleen and Jason were pregnant with
my sweet nephew Arthur. With Mamaw gone, all I could hear in my head was her
singing
‘Edelweiss’
to me as a child, with a slight (okay, major) aching in my belly for a little Goetz.
With those emotions swirling about, I chose to focus on one thing I
hoped to be true: the fact that I had a helluva tag team working on my side in
Heaven to show me the way of our future. With that in mind, I finished up my
application to the position at U of M the second week in November, just in time
for me to leave on a work trip to China. Upon submitting the application, I
received a notification saying that candidates for the position would be
notified of next steps after the end of the fall semester, which was
mid-December. I told myself waiting to hear for news for six weeks wasn’t
really so bad. It was. Every day I looked forward to getting an e-mail about my
status and the day would come and go with no news. Gah!
Fast forward six weeks and the Goetz Family was on our Christmas
vacation to St. Pete Beach. Loyal readers may recall t
hat Joseph Anthony was a
souvenir we brought home from St. Pete Beach around Christmas of 2008. With no
news yet about the position of U of M, I was of the frame of mind to move
forward on the baby train. We had told ourselves that we’d take up the baby
conversation again when November/December rolled around. But we came to the
realization that, while it may be a good time to be pregnant with my current
job, It may not be such a good time for the potentially new position at U of M,
given the semester starts right around August/September. In any case, we took
up the convo as promised, and my thought was, “If it was meant to be, it was
meant to be, right?” Jack, always the more practical of the two of us, was more
hesitant. “I want you to have the very best shot at this job and no outside
factors influencing your potential decision to take it, should you be offered
it,” he said. It was a sweet thing to say, because it showed me how supportive
he was. And when I thought about it more practically, I came to agree with him.
We discussed and discussed some more and decided to hold off—we would
reevaluate if I did not move forward in the applicant pool for the U of M job.
Meanwhile, our family rang in the New Year in Florida with Nonna and Papoo.
During our New Year’s dinner, eager to put our heartbreaking 2013 on the books,
we each proposed a toast to 2014. Mine was a toast to potential new beginnings.
 |
| Cheers to potential new beginnings from the Goetz Fam, New Year's Eve 2013 |
‘Me veo aquí.’
Mid-January rolled around and I had still not heard from U of M—but
since I was plugging away to prepare for one of our busy cycles for the
Program, I barely noticed. Plus, I figured that if I hadn’t heard by now, I
wasn’t in the running anyway. Per the advice I was given by my friend, I had
done a good job of preparing myself for this eventuality—even so, I was a tad
bit bummed, such that I decided to write U of M (this was a Monday) to make
sure my assumption that I was not being considered was correct. Within an hour,
they responded saying that my assumption was NOT correct and that the committee
was a bit behind on the search and that they’d be back in touch later in the
week. On Wednesday, they contacted me to do a Skype interview. The interview
took place that Friday and on Sunday, they called me to invite me to a campus
interview. Wow. I had gone almost three months without hearing anything,
then within one week, I was on my way to visiting U of M for a jam-packed two
day campus visit that was to take place in a little over a week. Welcome to
life in academia!
They gave me three options to choose from about when to schedule my
campus visit and I immediately knew I wanted to be the first of the three
candidates to visit campus, my strategy being I wanted to get the chance to
make the very first first impression and hopefully set the bar high (also, the
last two dates interfered with my Program’s interview schedule, so no dice). I
requested the personal time off from my job (GUILT CENTRAL) and they flew me to
Ann Arbor—in the middle of the polar vortex, by the way—and I survived the
campus visit. It was two straight days of meetings and Q and A sessions with
the chair, other faculty, lecturers, graduate students and staff, my talk
presenting my vision for the basic language program, and a demo class in which
I taught a course to a group of 25 students I had just met that day. I was
bombarded with questions that I had already contemplated in my mind, but that
had no easy answer (“How do you envision your first year on the job?” “What
will be your strategy in handling faculty vs. lecturer needs?” “Where do you
see the basic language program fitting in to the department at large? The
university at large?”). It was a jam-packed two days that left me tired, yes,
but more than anything truly invigorated and challenged and really,
really excited by the possibility that I had a 1 in 3 chance of being
offered the position. As I had suspected back in September, this job was a
great fit for me—in fact, it seemed as if it had almost been created for me.
When the chair met with me for my final exit interview of the two days, she
asked me straight up what I thought about the department. Since I got a great
vibe from her from the very start (the Skype interview), and since I know her
culture so well (she’s a Spaniard, and thus prefers to cut to the chase), I
decided to shoot it to her straight: “Me veo aquí,” (“I see myself here”), I said to her. And I did, I really did.
When I got dropped off at the airport in Detroit, I was still high on
the two day visit—but as soon as the check-in attendant asked if my final
destination was Indianapolis, my stomach fell to the floor. We were
Hoosiers—how could we possibly give up our sweet life that we’d been building
in Bloomington? Was this job worth giving up all that? Before I got too ahead
of myself (I hadn’t even been offered the job, after all!), I texted myself a
message because I knew at some point I may need to read it. It went like this:
Steph, you loved it at U of M.
Loved it. And you fit in well. You liked the people and the department, the
campus and the feel of things. Don’t doubt the sincerity of your experience
there. Trust your instinct that it they liked you just as much as you liked
them. Your kids will be fine; they are resilient. Think of the possibilities this
opens up for you!
I then called Jack and told him I had a strong feeling I may be
offered a job in a few weeks. Because he knows me so well, he knew I was not
being cocky or arrogant, rather that I had good instincts and a good track
record for these kinds of hunches. He congratulated me on a successful campus
visit, which is always a nice thing to hear from my husband, the person in my
life whose opinion I value the most. When we got off the phone with him, I had
to laugh to myself—in the very same month I interviewed for a position in
another state, Jack had been offered a promotion to the post of managing broker
of his real estate firm, which he accepted. He signed a one year contract for
the position. Hmm, wouldn’t it be funny if I were offered a job in Michigan, to
start the fall semester and Jack was contractually obligated to finish up the
year in Indiana?
Signs, signs, everywhere
signs
I got back to Bloomington late on a Friday night and was plunged into
interviewing candidates for our Program the very next week, so I really had no
time to fret about waiting to hear from U of M. In the third consecutive week
of interviewing candidates for our Program (the third week or so in February),
I got a call from U of M, saying they had an ‘update’ about the search. With
sweaty palms and pits, I called them back. They told me exactly what I had
hoped to hear: they were offering me the position—but, unexpectedly, the chair
had to leave the country to return to Spain, so they couldn’t offer me a
package just yet. It felt a bit anticlimactic as I went downstairs to tell
Jack, “I got offered the position! Except I don’t know the terms of the
contract yet, including salary!” He laughed and reminded me if I had waited
this long to get the offer, what was waiting a tad bit longer for the official
offer letter?
In our marriage, when we’ve had potentially tough decisions to make,
we’ve tackled them bit by bit and stayed on top of them so that they do not
seem overwhelming when push comes to shove and the decision must be made. How
that translates to this decision is that we had been talking about the
possibility of me being offered this position ever since I decided to apply in
September. Over the course of the last few months, we had many a talks about
what this might look like for our family. How would this affect our kids? Where
might they go to school? How would this affect our ability and our frequency to
get back to Cincinnati? How might this steer my career in a different
direction? What opportunities could this provide for Jack? Where might we live
in Ann Arbor, knowing houses (and TAXES!) were more expensive there, but we
weren’t sure if we were willing to downsize? How might this affect our decision
for adding to the family? Given we had sorted through many of these questions
already, we were fairly certain we were ready to uproot and head to Michigan,
provided the salary and benefits package (given Jack is self-employed as a
realtor, I carry all of us on my benefits) was good enough. We knew that me
working a ten month contract was going to be a game changer (in a good way) for
our family, as was the flexibility in hours of a faculty position. In addition,
the U of M job offered so many more opportunities moving forward in my career,
whereas I was a bit stuck where I was working with the Program, with nowhere to
ascend to within my department, not to mention Indiana high schools were moving
to an all-year round ‘balanced’ schedule which could very well affect our
Program’s duration, a change I’m not sure I was willing to weather IUHPFL
through. So, essentially, our decision was going to hinge on U of M being able
to offer a competitive salary and overall package. We were emotionally ready
for me to accept the position, but, practically speaking we were not ready to
commit because too many questions remained unanswered. Jack and I decided not
to delve into any further discussions until I got my offer letter—we couldn’t
crunch numbers and see if living in Ann Arbor would be financially feasible
until we knew my salary number.
As luck would have it, my offer letter came on March 12th
and I was heading out of the country to Chile on March 16th. I got
the offer via email and forwarded it to Jack. Though the salary was a nice 30%
increase of what I was making for the Program, it was the very minimum of the
range we were hoping for/we felt comfortable with moving to a more expensive
town. But the benefits package was outrageously nice and plus they gave me a
nice chunk of change for a professional development start-up fund. Even so, our
pragmatism kicked in: “What good is it for us to move to Ann Arbor if we can’t
maintain the quality of life we have in Bloomington?” we asked. My heart sunk
to think we might not be able to make this work—I strongly felt that God, and
Mamaw and Pawpaw for that matter, did not lead us this far into the journey for
me to turn down the offer because the salary wasn’t as high as we hoped. I
spent the night crunching numbers and the next morning, I called St. Thomas the
Apostle’s school (remember the church we went to in August on our visit to Ann
Arbor? Of course we were going to send our kids there!) to see if there would
be an opening for Joseph there to start kindergarten and for Pilar to start
pre-school. I talked to the sweetest lady who said yes, of course there was
room, and that she’d send us an application packet right away. I met Jack for
lunch that afternoon to present the data (I know the way to convincing him of
anything is by appealing to his rational side). We went through the numbers and
it became pretty darn clear that, even with the salary being on the low end of
the range we were hoping for, it was most definitely doable. Then Jack asked,
“Where are the kids going to go to school? What if they can’t get in where we
want them to go?” “Already taken care of,” I told him, then explained my
conversation with the secretary at St. Thomas. He smiled and I smiled over our
Mother Bear’s pizza. The decision seemed pretty clear.
 |
| The gang, outside of St. Thomas the Apostle in A2 a few weeks ago |
Even so, I wanted some time to sit with it. I shared the offer with
my boss (I had told her that I got a job offer right after U of M called me to
offer me the position), to which she replied that it was highly unlikely IU
could compete with it. Then she asked me the million dollar question: even if
IU could match the salary, if one of my greatest concerns moving forward in my
current job with the Program was busy summers and a non-flexible 8-5 plus weekend
schedule, would it even matter if the salary could be matched? I was pretty
sure I knew what the answer to that question was, but wanted to use my trip to
Chile to parse out my thoughts one last time—plus, I needed a blessing from
above. The practical side was answered for, as was the emotional side—but it’s
important to me to listen closely to what the Good Lord is telling me, too. How
many more signs did I need, you might ask? The revelations the week we were in
Ann Arbor, the timing of the job posting, how great the campus visit went—they
all seemed like pretty weighty signs. Still, I just wanted time to think on my
own and far, far away from the comfort and coziness of Bloomington, which had
the power to dissuade me. My sweet friend Sandy told me that when I’d find my
peace, I’d know it. I sure did.
San Francisco de Asisi
What greater place to do some thinking and reflecting than South
America, the place that I had come to love so dearly over ten years before? I
was fortunate enough to do two study abroads as an undergraduate: one in Spain
in 2001 and one in Ecuador in 2003. I always say that my stint abroad in Spain
taught me more about the world, while my stint in Ecuador taught me more about
myself. It was after my trip to Ecuador that I found myself in a great mental
space and Jack and I started dating. Something about South America was so raw
to me when I went in 2003: the smells, the sights, the way it made me feel—it
was a place that brought out the best in me and allowed me to see things for
what they were. Not surprisingly, when I arrived in Santiago and took the drive
from Santiago to Vina del Mar, I felt the same way. My nose sniffed the rawness
of the continent once again, and I knew the week ahead was going to be
insightful.
My first sign came the first day I was there. I arrived early in the
morning, so couldn’t check into my hotel just yet. I left my bags at the hotel
and set off on foot to explore. After walking about 30 minutes, I stumbled upon
a Catholic church and lo and behold, Mass had just started. I joined in the
back row and felt myself being soothed by the ritual of the Mass and
strengthened by the community of believers around me—same as home, just in
Spanish. I stayed after Mass to have a few words with the Lord and Mamaw and
Pawpaw. As I prayed to them all to guide me in Viña in setting up our Program
well and to help me find complete peace with my decision,
the organ began to play the theme song from The Mission, which was one of Pawpaw’s favorites. I
smiled—Pawpaw was letting me know he heard my request.
 |
| A week in Vina del Mar: the perfect backdrop for reflection |
The second sign was a few days into the trip, when we had a meeting
scheduled with potential host families for our students. I was loving my time
in Viña, being reminded at every turn of my semester abroad in Ecuador and how
life-changing it was for me, visiting the seaside to think and reflect, taking
in the smells of the ocean plus the smells of fresh fruit, meat and popcorn
being sold on the streets—I had some fleeting thoughts that were worth thinking
through: “Will I be okay with it if I possibly don’t get to visit South America
ever again? What if my new job doesn’t present as many opportunities to travel
internationally? Is my work with the Program done, considering this year we
were launching two new programs, one in China and one in Chile? Will the person
who comes in to succeed me take as good a care as I would of these two new
programs—and of all the programs, for that matter? Am I ready to hand over the
Program, after only just setting us up in South America—after all, I had been
wanting to get us into South America since I came in as director in 2008?” I
was very mindful that I shouldn’t let a few magical days in Viña affect my
decision to accept the position—those few magical days wouldn’t erase my long
term concerns. Still, if anything could talk me out of taking the job, it was a
week in South America.
 |
| A day lunch in Valparaiso with new colleagues and new friends |
Then came the host family meeting. I had prepared a power point to
present for the meeting and, as dorky as this sounds, I always love the
challenge of presenting the Program to our different constituents, because each
constituent needs to be convinced of the Program’s worth and each constituent has
something at stake. I saw my job for that night to convince these families to
want to be part of our Program, to have
the chance to impact our students, possibly for eternity, as my Ecuadorian
family did for me. When it came time to present the power point, I was jazzed.
I went through my slides and hit all my talking points—I thrived off the host
families’ nods, smiles and questions. The families warmed to me and I to them—I
was reminded of how Latinos always make me feel (I’m stealing an expression
from Mr. Tolan— like I’m wrapped in a warm blanket and hugged extra tight. What
beautiful people.
 |
| Me with the host families in Chile--I love an audience |
When my colleague Mark drove me home that night, I decided to tell
him about the offer. Even though Mark and I had only been collaborating to put
together the Program in Chile since October, we had quickly developed a great
rapport and he seemed like the kind of person who might be able to relate to
what I was going through. When I told him about the position, the first thing
he asked me is why I was interested in taking it. I told him it boiled down to
two things: 1) getting to teach again and 2) offering a schedule and
flexibility that better suited my family needs. He had two counterpoints for
me. Counterpoint one: he said seeing me in front of the host families that
evening was inspiring; he said that I was clearly born a teacher and that I
thrived being ‘on’ (this was something that the Associate Chair at U of M told me
when observing my demo class, too). Both Mark and the Associate Chair were spot
on. Counterpoint two: he said that he sensed, as much as I loved my job with
the Program and the passion that I very evidently put into it, that I was going
to burn myself out at the rate I was going. I asked him how he knew that. He
said he knew because I answered his emails at all hours of the day, and even
when I was supposedly on ‘vacation.’ I laughed out loud, because I knew that to
be true. He confirmed for me things that I already knew about myself. It’s one
thing to know yourself well, it’s another for someone who hasn’t known you very
long to readily point out to you the things you already know about yourself.
 |
| Mark: half Chilean, half estadounidense; 100% perceptive |
Still, I hadn’t found the peace yet that Sandy was talking about. I felt
confident in my decision, but hadn’t yet been struck with the feeling of
all-consuming tranquility. I decided that was okay—I didn’t need that ‘hit you
like a ton of bricks feeling of peace’ since Jack and I had already come to
peace as a couple about the decision. In fact, just the night before Jack and I
were chatting on Yahoo messenger (he’s not an iPhoner, so we can’t Face Time or
iMessage back and forth) about the decision. Just as our conversation in person
flows like the river, our Yahoo messenger conversation was nice and fluid—at
the end of it he asked ‘Do you think other people make such life-changing
decisions over Yahoo messenger?’ and I had to laugh. Our time apart dating long
distance for all those years when we first met made us pretty healthy
communicators in all mediums; I’ll always be glad for that.
Then came sign number three. My last day in Chile, I opted to spend
the day in Santiago. As my taxi driver drove me into the heart of the city, he
asked me where I wanted to be dropped off. I had a map in hand and a general
idea of the parts of town I wanted to see, but it matter none to me where I
started. From a few miles away, I could see a tall church tower and as we crept
closer to it through traffic, I became more and more drawn to it, so I asked to
be dropped off there. I entered the church and it was beautiful. It wasn’t like
any church I’d ever seen before.
 |
| I've seen lots of churches; this one was special |
But it was the oddest thing because I couldn’t find the name of the
church written anywhere or inscribed on any plaque. I set about my usual
routine when visiting churches, which was to see which saints were featured on
the walls, where the Virgin was, and what the baptismal font looked like. I was
drawn to a beautiful sculpture of Mary holding Jesus and kneeled to pray. I was
thanking all my peeps in Heaven for looking out for me in Chile and for also
watching out for my family back at home while I was away. I was thanking them
for this new opportunity and for helping point me down the Maize brick road to
U of M. I was thanking them for bringing me back to South America for the
chance to feel ‘home’ there once again. Then I sat still for a moment, just
breathing in and out, tears of gratitude streaming down my cheeks. Then it came…I
kid you not, I was washed over with a feeling of total and utter inner peace.
Bingo! There it was. I smiled thinking of Sandy. Then I looked up to the sky to
give thanks once again and what did I see? A painting that was labeled
‘El Bautismo de San Francisco.’
 |
| El bautismo de S. Francisco--that's when it hit me! |
Holy. Shit. Chiiiilllllsss. It hit me just then: the church was Saint
Francis of Assisi. I got up and started looking around for a confirmation of my
hunch. Sure enough, to the left of the altar was a shrine to St. Francis,
complete with prayers of thanks from pet owners thanking him for saving their
little furry friends, pictures of animals, and the Franciscan cross accompanied
by the Prayer of St. Francis.
 |
| Cards and photos of furry friends just below the altar to St. Francis |
I smiled from ear to ear and
got to my knees again in prayer and thanked Mamaw and Pawpaw for leading me to
this very church. On the opposite side of the church, its doors opened to a
courtyard. I entered and came to find out that the courtyard was the heart of a
monastery where several seminarians were studying to become priests. In typical
St. Francis fashion,
the courtyard was full of birds and squirrels. The sun
shone brightly through the trees and I just basked in it. I spent a good hour
in the grounds of the monastery alone before leaving, my heart calm and happy.
The rest of the day, I walked around on cloud nine, smiling at the thought of
telling Jack and my mom about my experience there. Before going to the airport,
I went to the public library of Santiago to gank some wi-fi (and also enjoy the
architecture), where I iMessaged Sandy to tell her I found my peace.
I boarded that plane back to the US bursting with every good feeling
that’s out there: certainty, hope, love, joy, peace. I was ready to go home.
 |
| Unmistakable, utter peace, from fingertips to deep in my bones |
Jack picked me up at the airport in Indianapolis and we drove
straight to Cincinnati, where the kids had been with Nonna and Papoo the last
few days. We were set to celebrate Jack’s birthday and also to announce our
decision to our extended families and the kids (only our parents and a few
friends knew we were preparing for a move; we had vaguely talked to the kids
about the possibility of moving to a new state—we asked them what they thought
about it and P thought it was pretty cool. Joe, however, said he didn’t want to
because he loved his school and friends so much. Heart. Breaking.).
The kids and I and Nonna met my aunts at Mamaw and Pawpaw’s house on
that Saturday—I wanted to be sure I got there because their house had been
recently bought and was going to be closed on; it was important to me to get to
walk through it one last time. I’m so glad we did. Though of course walking through
the house brought back a thousand memories that I will always treasure, I came
to see that the house being empty just wasn’t the same without Mamaw and
Pawpaw’s furniture, trinkets and photos. It helped me understand that without
their things, the house was just a house—it was their presence, their love,
that made it a home. This gave me hope that whatever house we found in
Michigan, we could make a home; this was important to me as I was becoming
nervous to tell the kids about our move, per Joe’s reaction to the mere talk of
possibly relocating.
 |
| Pili playing in Mamaw and Pawpaw's backyard |
We decided
to break the news to the kids on the drive back to
Bloomington, on Jack’s very birthday. We tend not to beat around the bush with
these things, so we got straight to the point. We said we were moving to a new
state so that Mommy could take a job in
which she wouldn’t have to travel as much anymore and could have the summers to
be with them. “Yaaaaaaaay,” Pili clapped and clapped! “Woo hoo!” said Joseph.
But not two minutes later, he said, “Mommy, does that mean I have to leave my
friends and my school?”
GULP.
“Yes it does, Joseph.” Big, fat tears fell from his eyes and his
little lip trembled, “But I don’t WANT to leave my school and my friends,
Mommy.” Jack and I looked at each other, crushed. We knew to expect this kind
of reaction from Joe, but expecting it and hearing it are two different things.
Since then, Joe’s come around to the idea of moving much more, but he’s
definitely the last family member to get completely on board. God love ‘em,
that’s my little buddy. He’s a homebody and a sentimental little booger. I love
these things about him and would never ever change them, even if they make the
move a bit more difficult for him.
Mamaw and Pawpaw have continued to lead the way for us away from and
to Ann Arbor: our Bloomington house went on the market and sold a few days
later (that’s also because my realtor is awesome); we managed to find an
all-furnished house to live in during the gap in which our houses closes in
Bloomington and we move to Ann Arbor—and it’s within walking distance from
campus!; and most recently, on our first family trip to Ann Arbor, we found a
house that we put an offer on that was accepted on which the inspection has
been done and turned out to be good. We are set to close in mid-July and move
to Ann Arbor shortly after the yearly camping trip we do with my mom’s side of
the family the weekend of Miss P’s birthday. Do you care to guess the name of
the street that our street butts up to? Frances Way. It may not be spelled the
same, but good ole Saint Francis is intervening for us yet again, with a
faithful nudge from our angel grandparents.
This moves us to the present day, June 28th. Yesterday morning
was move out day in Bloomington—the movers came to take our furniture away and
put it in storage. With our closing on June 30th, we have just a few
days left to put remaining schlep into boxes and settle into our rental. Phase
I of three phases moving to Ann Arbor is nearly complete!
 |
| The kids on moving out day--they were transfixed by the movers, calm, but excited; meanwhile, the lump in my throat and tears in my eyes could not be denied |
As we are experiencing, and which comes to no surprise, saying goodbye to our friends in
Bloomington has been and will continue to be a challenge for our sensitive and
loving little Goetz hearts—but it has been so much easier to accept the
difficulty of us leaving Bloomington behind knowing that we strongly believe
God has called us to Ann Arbor. We owe many thanks to our
support systems located near and far (you know who you are) for helping us find our way to this new
and exciting camino. Speaking of which—don’t you love the name of the moving
company that came to take our furniture away? A Better Way.
 |
| A better 'way,' or 'camino'--a nod to the title of my blog, El Camino? Going to A2 is our current better way. |
What a difference a year makes
when you are willing to listen to and follow A Sign From God. Thank you, Mamaw and Pawpaw, for showing us the maize brick road.
