When my boyfriend and I found our way back to each other, we were both chasing something bigger than ourselves.

Technically, we first met as freshmen in high school. We spent those years growing up alongside each other, dating other people, living separate lives. Then, after graduation, we reconnected.

At the time, he was a brand-new firefighter and EMT, fresh out of cadet school. I was only a few months into my first healthcare job as a nursing assistant at a large acute care hospital.

We were young, ambitious, and certain of where we were headed. I dreamed about becoming a nurse, maybe in the ICU, the emergency department, or labor and delivery. He dreamed about becoming a paramedic in a busy city fire department. We talked about our futures constantly. It felt like we were building them side by side.

Now, two and a half years later, my path has continued forward. I’m halfway through nursing school. In a year, I’ll graduate and step into my first nursing job. The kind of job that requires commitment. The kind where I can’t simply call out because I want a long weekend or quit on a whim to chase another opportunity. I’ll have to build a reputation, earn trust, and establish myself. My life is beginning to take shape.

His, however, feels like it’s been paused. Not because he isn’t working hard. Not because he lacks talent. Not because he doesn’t deserve it. The department he works for has simply kept moving the finish line.

For years, he’s given everything to them. He started as a cadet and eventually became a part-time firefighter. Last year, they opened a full-time position. He worked through every stage of the hiring process, making it all the way onto the eligibility list.

They hired the first candidate. Months later, they gave a provisional position to the second. Eventually, that person was hired full-time too. My boyfriend finally reached the top of the list.

Then the department changed course and decided they only wanted lateral hires, people who were already full-time firefighters elsewhere. Just like that, the opportunity he’d been patiently waiting for disappeared. The frustrating part is that they’ve continued making promises.

Chiefs have told him they want him there. They have talked about sending him to paramedic school. They’ve painted a picture of a future that always seems one hiring cycle away.

But years have passed.

And he’s still waiting.

In Washington, becoming a firefighter-paramedic is a long road. First, you get hired part-time. Then you get full time and attend academy. Then you complete probation for a year. After that, if the department believes in you, they may sponsor you through paramedic school, a process that can take another year and requires a tremendous commitment from both the department and the employee.

The system only works if someone gives you the chance to take the first step.

Nobody has.

Watching this happen hurts more than I expected. Not because I need him to hurry up. Not because I want him to abandon his dream. I just hate seeing someone with so much potential spend years waiting for people who don’t seem to value him.

The department offers no healthcare. No dental coverage. No union protections. The pay isn’t great. The treatment is often worse. Yet he stays because loyalty means something in the fire service. Tradition means something. “Brotherhood and all tha shit”.

And I understand that.

I really do.

But sometimes I wonder whether loyalty becomes a trap when it’s only moving in one direction. What makes this season of life especially difficult is that we’re constantly living in anticipation of a future that never arrives. For over a year we’ve been saying, “Maybe after he gets hired.”

Maybe after academy.

Maybe after probation.

Maybe after paramedic school.

That’s when we’ll travel. That’s when we’ll go backpacking. That’s when we’ll disappear into the mountains for a month and visit every national park we’ve dreamed about seeing.

Instead, every trip comes with an asterisk.

What if another department calls?

What if an interview gets scheduled?

What if this is finally the opportunity?

So we wait. And wait. And wait. Sometimes I catch myself wondering whether there are other paths that would give him the life he wants.

Nursing, for example. Healthcare offers flexibility that firefighting often doesn’t. Contracts in Alaska. Travel assignments in Texas. Thirteen weeks here, a month off there. The freedom to work intensely for a season and then disappear into the world for a while. It’s not that I think nursing is better. Especially not for him.

It’s that I think it might fit the life we’ve always talked about living. The life filled with road trips, backpacks, mountains, and freedom. The life where work supports our adventures instead of constantly postponing them.

But then I remember that dreams aren’t spreadsheets. You can’t compare salaries, benefits, schedules, and opportunities and expect the heart to follow the numbers.

Firefighting isn’t just a career to him. It’s identity. It’s purpose. It’s service. It’s the feeling he gets when he puts on the uniform and knows he’s helping someone on the worst day of their life.

And maybe that’s why this is so hard. Because I don’t know if the dream is worth it anymore. But I know it still matters to him. So I find myself stuck between two truths. I want him to chase what makes him happy. And I want him to stop waiting for people who keep telling him to wait a little longer.

Maybe growing up is realizing that sometimes the hardest questions aren’t about whether a dream is possible.

They’re about how much of your life you’re willing to spend waiting for it.