Seven years ago my husband Carey and I bought my childhood home. We peeled off all the hideous wallpaper and ugly paint, we painted all the rooms in Disney colors. We had the hardwood floors refinished and carpeted some of the rooms and the halls and stairs. We planted magnolia trees and rose bushes. We completely remodeled the kitchen with gorgeous custom cabinets and a lovely tile floor. We filled our seventeen floor to ceiling bookshelves with books, actually overfilled them. Our mortgage is halfway paid off in spite of the fact that our house is worth over $100,000 less than when we bought it.

And this week I learned that the only way I can keep a job with my company is to move to Indianapolis. And they want me to move in two to three months. If I don’t transfer I lose all the company matches to my 401(k) and my bonus for this year. And have to start the job search once again.

When I was younger, I probably would have given notice to my landlord and moved. I’ve done it many times, from Pennsylvania, to LA, back to Pennsylvania, to Boston, to Austin, and back to New Jersey. From my frequent trips to the company headquarters in Indianapolis I have grown to love Indiana, but do I want to start over again there? I have a husband, a special house, I can’t just move on a whim as I could do in the past.

Decisions aren’t as easy now that I’m older in spite of taking two classes in decision theory in business school. It’s no longer as simple as making a pro and con list and seeing which list is longer. It’s a decision that is tearing at my soul. The only outcome I want is for things to go on as they are and that is not one of the options.