My wife is off to LA. She is going to the place the stars live. She’s on a plane right now.

She is going for a voice-over class, and I am proud of her. I’m proud of her for chasing her dreams and I’m proud of us for making it happen. She is nervous, understandably. There are professionals in that town. People who have made a fortune doing voice-work. People who are the big names in the industry.

I am nervous, too. This is only the second time she’s left me for more than one night in the whole time we’ve been together. That’s twenty years. So when she teared up at the airport, it made me feel sad but good, too, because I know she’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss her.

I felt sort of weird all week, knowing she was getting ready for this trip. What’s going to happen to us when she becomes rich and famous? Will she still remember me? Will she remember all the little steps we had to take to get here? I could have been mad that she was doing it without me. I could have been jealous that she seems to be getting on with her career at a more rapid pace than I am-after all, she’s going to be lunching and dinner-ing with industry insiders. The closest I ever got to that was asking an agent a question while he was biting into his sub sandwich.

I could have taken it hard. I could have put up a fuss, said it was too expensive, too dangerous, too . . . whatever. But really I’m just grateful that she has the opportunity, even if she’s scared about what might happen too. So instead of putting up a fit, I bought her a suitcase. Good luck, Kim. You’re gonna do great.