I stopped what I was doing, stared at him for a moment, and I started to cry. It surprised us both, I think. But the instant the words left his mouth, I knew it was right. The feeling was so fast and so strong. I knew, out of nowhere, that this was what we would do. I put my arms around him and told him I’d like that.
He told me about a flier he’d seen hanging in the engineering building at the university advertising a Ph.D. program in computational at the Max Planck Institute in Dresden, Germany. It had caught his eye for a few reasons: He’d recently heard about the new field of computational biology and felt that it was a good match for his interests in biology and computers and his engineering background. He also knew the Max Planck Institutes were well respected in the science world.
But what really stood out was the location. When Jake was 19, in 1999, he served a mission for our church in Eastern Germany. He lived in cities surrounding Dresden for 2 years, learning the language and developing a passion for the culture while teaching others about the LDS religion. About a year after we were married, two years after he’d gotten home from his mission, he took me back. It was my first time out of the country. We visited some cities he served in and a few he didn’t. I found Germany beautiful and fascinating, but alien. I felt on edge, isolated by the language barrier and the cultural differences. Several days into the trip, I distinctly remember thinking, “I knew Jake would love to live here again, but I just couldn’t do it.” And then we visited Dresden.
I can’t explain what happened in Dresden. We were only there for a day and a night. But it took my heart. I can’t hardly imagine a city less like my Idaho hometown, but for some reason there was something about it that felt like home. I felt safe and happy and excited there. Jake, who hadn’t spent much time in Dresden on his mission, felt it, too. We went home and continued studying at the university and working, but we remembered.
And now, with the prospect of a Ph.D. program there, Dresden became the next place. The tentative (but not really tentative) plan. When people asked about our future, we started to tell them about our hopes for Dresden. We tried to hold back our enthusiasm since nothing was assured, but eventually it became impossible. It was going to happen. We were certain.
When it came time Jake applied, and we waited. And on Dec. 20, 2006, our fourth wedding anniversary, I woke up to find that Jake wasn’t in bed. I went into the living room, and he told me he’d just gotten the e-mail. His application had been denied. I felt like the floor gave out beneath me. I was shocked, first, that anyone would turn Jake away. I knew his talents would be a gift to any institution. And I don’t say that as his wife. You can ask anyone who’s worked with him and who knows his mind and his work ethic. They’ll recommend him even more vehemently than I would. Simultaneously, my heart shattered for Jake, who had been working toward this so single-mindedly and so hard. I’d never seen him want anything quite as much. Then I felt something like falling. Like grasping at air. Our “next step” had vaporized, and we had no idea where we’d go. And finally, as I held Jake in the dark room and cried and whispered “I’m so sorry” into his shoulder, I felt relief. Naturally, I’d felt anxiety about the whole thing — leaving our families, friends and belongings for so long. Being dropped with no one but Jake into a culture and language I didn’t understand. But I didn’t have to feel anxious anymore. That door was closed.
Over the next few months, Jake sent out what seemed to be a steady stream of applications. After the refusal, he had decided against getting a Ph.D. He felt more inclined to get into the workforce, so that’s where the applications went: research institutions, laboratories and universities. And I retooled my vision of our next few years. I saw us in a little house or condo somewhere in the United States starting the life we’d likely have for years to come. It felt — fine. It was difficult to shake the strong feelings I’d had about moving to Dresden, but they started to fade, and I started to embrace the more conventional path.
But in the midst of the job applications, Jake also sent an e-mail to the professor in Dresden he had hoped to work with, asking what had been lacking in his application. In time, he heard back from the professor who said that he hadn’t even seen Jake’s application. It had apparently been turned away in committee before it made it into any of the professors’ hands. He asked Jake to send it to him, saying that he was still bringing in Ph.D. students independent of the Max Planck Institute. Jake did and the professor responded quickly and positively. As they corresponded over the next few days, I saw a light come back on in Jake, but I was growing increasingly ill with anxiety. Now my vision of American suburban existence was getting ripped out from under me and being re-replaced with the prospect of moving overseas, which seemed this time around to be much more real and terrifying than before. The professor interviewed Jake over the phone, and a week later Jake flew to Dresden to interview in person. I knew that was it. It would be difficult to turn Jake away on his credentials, but I knew once they met him, it would be impossible — a brilliant, hard working scientist with charisma, a cool head and quick wit. It was over. I sent him off at the Salt Lake City airport, and I knew, with creeping dread, that we would be back at this airport soon.
And we were, two months later. It was two years ago today, the day that I hugged my family in the airport and got into the security line, tear-stained and shaking and clinging to Jake’s hand for all I was worth, and feeling somehow like Adam and Eve being cast out of the Garden of Eden.
That was two years ago.
I think we've done all right.
JEM
