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Dream Home

Home.  I’m such a homebody. I love having a place to come back to every day that’s familiar and has touches of our family in each room.  H’s latest painting that he’s working on in the back bedroom.  My notebooks scattered about each and every room.  The small imprints we’ve left on this place, a nick in the door frame a repaired window.

We’re losing our home and it’s thrown me for such a loop.  H and I gave “us” a real shot in this home.  It’s the place where I put a post it note up on the fridge telling him I was ready to get married.  It’s the place he hid my engagement ring for three whole weeks before asking me to marry him in Tuscany. It’s where we fought and cried and laughed our way to get ready to be married.  The place we came home to as husband and wife for the very first time.  And it’s no longer ours.  We’ve rented our place so in a sense it’s never been our place though we’ve lived here four years.  Our landlord is renovating and kicking us to the curb and I didn’t realize how attached I’ve gotten to this place until I’m forced to leave it.

It’s hard being in the in between.  I have no idea what our home will look like two months from now.  Is it in our same neighborhood? Or did we move out of the city? Can we finally get the dog we’ve longed for?  Do we have space or a yard where we can grow things?  Between the then and now it’s hard for me to find any content or stillness.

Sitting in the in between time is the hardest for me.  I hate not knowing.  The truth is though, we will find a new home.  It will be ours when we move into it, and it’s a new place where the next chapter of our lives can unfold.  I try to hone in on the possibilities rather than the worries. It can be so hard to hold onto though.  So tonight instead of thinking too much about it, maybe I’m not ready to be a grown up.  Instead I’ll pull the covers of my quilt around me tight, snuggle into our bed and escape into a good book.  (Maine, it’s excellent.)  For tonight, that’s alright.

Our next home. might not be a our dream home. (Read: cottage nestled in the English countryside, complete with barn and two horses that keep each other company, and maybe a goat and cow also please).  We will make it ours and it shall be.

Overflow

Self-indulgent overflow of any and all feelings follows below, woah boy.

I feel so hopeless sometimes. Like there’s nothing, nothing I can do to make myself feel better.  I numb, and I numb, and I numb, and I know I should stop.  But I’m more afraid of what will happen if I stop numbing.  What feelings are laying in wait for me to swallow me whole.

I just feel sad and tearful and I can’t think of any reason why.   I’m lonely a bit for a friend, a girl friend.  I still don’t really have any in this city.  I’m also so stuck with my writing.  My dream is to become a full time writer, and part of me knows I’ve got what it takes, but the other part is stuck.  I get so frustrated.   I wonder why the hell do I think I could be successful? I wonder why the hell I think I should be successful if I can’t even get my ass off the couch, and write a few sentences.   And I know in my heart the truth is that I won’t achieve my dreams if I don’t try to.  But I’m so paralyzed right now.

I’m afraid I’ll finish this book that I’m writing and it will be crap.  I’m afraid that I’ll never find anyone who will want to publish it.  I’m afraid the book publishing industry is falling apart so there will never be any space for me to succeed anyway.  I’m afraid that even if it’s published I don’t have the marketing platform to sell any copies.  I’m afraid I will fail in full force.  I’m afraid I will burst the bubble on my own dream, realize I can’t really make it happen after I’ve tried.  That I’ll be stuck forever in a corporate job, doing what “responsible” people do. Then I’m afraid that having any of these fears means that I don’t believe in myself.  How are you supposed to succeed when you don’t believe in yourself?

One glass of wine and I stopped tonight. I really, really wanted that second drink. I wanted to numb out and check out and not deal with anything.  But then all of the sudden the desire to feel something, anything was greater than my urge for a drink.  And I made a cup of tea.  I’ve been having that second drink for weeks.  So whatever I’m feeling hasn’t caught up with me.  The tears are coming and I’m not sure entirely why.

I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to make any of my dreams come true.  That I don’t deserve any of them. I used to feel that way about finding someone who would love me for all of me.  But if I look now, I see that I have a wonderful husband, who loves me and see me for all of me.  He believes in me more than I do sometimes, and inspires me.  He comes home and comforts me and helps me see the light again.

I feel some hope, because I’m sitting here feeling these feelings tonight.  I’ve spilled them out there.   With love, I learned a lot about needing to love myself before I found someone who loves me they I deserve to be loved.  So I’m going through a growing stage with writing I guess.  I trust that I’m where I need to be right now.  I will still show up though.  If I show up and do my best for the day, that’s all I can ask. At the end of it all, I love writing and if I follow that nudge of intuition I can’t fail.  I can only grow.

Funny how those feelings of doubt and despair, when I finally open them up, and named them, they move right through me.  All it took was the end of this post to get them all down.  I still have those fears and doubts but they’re not holding me hostage anymore.  I will need to relearn this lesson over and over and over, but when you acknowledge the feelings they loosen their grip on you.  Thank God for that!

A Weekend in a Dream

View from the Cabin

A few weekends ago I had a chance to live a weekend from my dream life, the life I would lead if I had no responsibilities and could do as my heart desired each moment of the day.  Ahh I wish.

I work for an environmental organization that helps protect beautiful open spaces.  My husband and I got to spend a weekend at a cabin on one of those preserves, on the coast of Northern California.  It was built in the 1950s or 1960 by a man who was a sailor and then later a writer.

Chunked into the side of a cliff, the little place is surrounded on three sides by oceans views.  It was simply stunning.  The cabin was pretty much a wooden shack, with two walls of plexiglass windows. We had the bare necessities to get by over the weekend, galley kitchen, closet bathroom, fireplace and cot.  That was all we needed.

The sun was shining, it was warm for February and the whole place was simply gorgeous.  H and I couldn’t stop smiling at each other, we were so overcome with giddiness. “This is ours, for the whole weekend?”

The original owner’s presence was definitely there.  His books lined the bookshelves, not a splinter had been changed since he built the place.  It was a nice feeling, not a sinister one.  Kind of like a pushy notion to remember that life is short.  (He died suddenly in his sixties while working on what he felt would be his best book.)  I stayed up late that night scribbing away in my notebook, writing more than I had in the past two months combined.  It was magic.  All of the sudden it felt like my dreams were in reach again. That yes, if I actually did something, made some moevement towards what I wanted, it was possible.

It’s amazing what a change in your every day scenery can do.  If only I could live in the cabin every day… I’m trying to find little ways to recapture some of that joy and freedom I felt – taking a walk outside in the sun, trying to notice small details around me and be very present.  It’s tough to get back to the grind of everyday and maintain any of that creativity.  It was a kick in the pants reminding me that I need to take action, do something. Intention is great and all, but you’ve got to make a move towards what you want.