*This post originally appeared elsewhere on 20 May 2009.

My husband is ready for a change.

He’s been talking for years about cashing out and moving to the middle of nowhere to grow grapes or avocados or, as the rest of the joke goes, send special letters to people.

He goes through fits.  He’ll scour the internet for land listings.  He’ll research everything there is to know about growing this or that.  He’ll talk to realtors.  Make plans to sell machinery.

Recently, he found a piece of property that he really wants.  Beautiful.  Northern California.  Wine country.  Lake views.  A real investment opportunity, but, out of our price range unless we are (read: I am) willing to do something drastic.  He wants to do something drastic.  I can see it in his eyes.  And if I couldn’t, well, he said as much.  He also said that we wouldn’t because he didn’t think I could “handle it.”

Is hard to say whether that is an honest assessment or not.  My husband seems to be at the point where he wants to follow his dream, but he’s married to someone who is not a risk taker.  Of course, I am also fairly easily manipulated, so he could have just been trying to push me in the direction he wants me to go by telling me that I wouldn’t.  Hmm.

But I am a big chicken.  I might go so far as to say that I won’t do anything unless I know I am going to be successful.  Just the thought of cashing out for the unknown makes my stomach ache.  But I don’t want to be the dream killer.

“All dreams die,” he said the other night.  It was in acknowledgement of the fact that he may never own a vineyard.  He wasn’t bitter, just matter-of-fact, but it was horribly depressing to hear him say such a thing.  Sure it might be true… I never went to the Olympics, he isn’t a race car driver, but is that the sort of thing we’re going to tell our children?  I think not.

Wouldn’t it be something to really pursue a dream?  I want that for him.  I really want that for him.

I also think I need an antacid.