And it’s true—I do find it more engaging than shows about cops and doctors and other things far removed from my identity. From time to time I imagine taking on all those ad men at their testosterone-fueled game. (My character is, of course, ravishingly beautiful, dazzlingly smart, tough as nails, and funny besides.)

But I must confess that when it comes to TV fantasies, my true heart lies elsewhere.  I am, and will forever be, a speechwriter for President Josiah Bartlet. We watched all seven seasons of The West Wing last winter, and at one point I went so far as to do some internet research about speechwriting careers. I realize that it is probably not quite like it looks on TV. (It doesn’t help, though, that President Obama’s main speechwriter is a brilliant young phenom and something of a celebrity besides.)

Who would you play on TV? And what does it reveal about what you want in your real-world career?

I could probably write half a dozen posts on this topic and still have more questions than answers. And I’d probably leave it all alone and write about something simpler if I could. But we have this decision to make, and these issues are right in the middle of it.

This morning, just as I was getting up the gumption to grapple with this topic, I found comfort and wisdom in an unlikely place: the White House. Jodi Kantor’s profile of the Obamas’ marriage in the New York Times magazine is fascinating and intimate. She captures the ongoing negotiation behind the glossy fairytale that is their public image. Through this article, you see the hard work that it takes to sustain a marriage between two ambitious, uncompromising people. You see the cost of the tradeoffs that they have chosen, and you especially see that although Michelle plays her part with grace, she is not entirely okay with the sacrifices she has been asked to make. Which is reassuring to me, because I’m not entirely okay with what’s being asked of me either. And somehow it makes me feel better to know that as our family works through these issues, we do it in good company.

A bit more background here: I am about to become what you might call a “trailing spouse.” My husband’s career is specialized and geographically restrictive. He loves his work, and he’s good at it, and we have known all along that we would come to a point when following his career would be the only sensible option. I signed on for this and have had nearly a decade to get used to the idea. And still I’m not entirely okay with it.

I guess I have been spoiled by equality. Up to this point, we have made all major decisions on equal footing, so I have no experience in sacrifice, and my feelings about it are all muddled. One script in my head says that all kinds of people—men and women both—follow their partners’ careers at some point. (And probably most of them do it with a lot less angst than this.) Two careers cannot take equal precedence simultaneously. I believe that a solid marriage is built by striving for equality whenever possible and taking turns leading when necessary. I know that it is my turn to follow. But there is this raging feminist inside of me who is so totally not okay with that, and who rails against all the structural forces that have brought us to the point where this decision is inevitable. I don’t know what to do about her.

Let me be clear here: My husband has been tremendous through this whole process. He is wholly on my team and doing everything in his power to make sure that my career and happiness are well-served by any move we make. I have absolute veto power over any opportunity I am not comfortable with, and he would be okay if I used it.

I should also be clear that I’m not being asked to move to a godforsaken outpost. The opportunity in front of us is, in fact, quite romantic. (My friends get these quizzical looks when I express any doubts about it.) I’m fairly sure that this move would prove to be a great adventure for our family, and maybe in the long run a boon for my career too.

But I’m being asked to leave a good job in a city that I love to move to a place where most business is conducted in a language I do not speak. I have no guarantee of a job there, and in fact not much notion of how to find one. And I’m scared. I’m scared that my career will get derailed. I’m scared about having my identity revolve around home and family as I try to make friends and build a network in a new place. And I’m scared because this feels like a pretty major alteration in our life course, and I’m not sure when I will get my turn to lead on a decision of this significance.

But then I think about the Obamas and I feel better, because, jeez, if they can work it out, anybody can. As Michelle Obama said at the close of her New York Times interview, the equality of any partnership “is measured over the scope of the marriage. It’s not just four years or eight years or two. We’re going to be married for a very long time.”

I’m not proud of this, but I also know I’m not alone. In the privacy of backyards and living rooms, some very smart and politically engaged friends have admitted to feeling the same way. I suspect we are symptomatic of the challenges inherent in tackling this issue.

Here are three reasons why I’ve been tuning out:

1. I’m covered–My health insurance is pretty good and pretty cheap. Not great, but certainly good enough that I’m among the majority of Americans who count themselves satisfied with their current health plan. Healthcare is not an issue that keeps me up at night. This is a luxury–I know plenty of people who do lose sleep (and half their paychecks) over it. I recognize that the concerns about cost and quality of care are real, and that the astronomical number of people without health insurance is both a tragedy and a shame. But achieving meaningful reform when most people are satisfied with their personal status quo is always going to be an uphill battle.

2. I’m moderate–There are issues that make me burn with ideological fire, but this is not one of them. I think the current system is clunky and driven by parochial greed. I think more regulation is probably needed, and so is more competition. I think a “public option” might not be a terrible idea, but I’m not about to go to the barricades for it. I don’t think that a fully socialized system à la Europe is desirable or workable in America and I don’t see us ever getting very far down that path. Since I lack passionate convictions on this issue, I find that the vitriol of the debate leaves me cold.

3. I’m lazy–I’m sure that if I tried I could figure out which bills are on the various tables in the House and the Senate, and the pros and cons of each, and how a lowly citizen could effectively weigh in. But it’s summertime. Both the process and the substance of this entire debate have been muddy from the start. No one has effectively framed the issue to make it clear what we are choosing between. If I were to call my representatives I’m not sure what I would even say to them. Without a compelling message and a clear course of action, my attention (and the conversation in my backyard) quickly shifts to other topics.

I do think that healthcare reform is important, both for its own sake and because a failure here will hobble this administration, maybe permanently. So I hope that all the wonks and politicos start talking about this stuff in a way that makes me sit up and pay attention.

President Obama has been excoriated by the right for expressing his preference for empathetic judges. Even the left has been wary of wholly embracing the term in this context.

Here is the definition of empathy.

empathy
Noun
the ability to sense and understand someone else’s feelings as if they were one’s own [Greek, empatheia-- affection, passion]

Collins Essential English Dictionary 2nd Edition 2006 © HarperCollins Publishers 2004, 2006

How can this be such a terrible quality for a judge to possess?