Several years ago I set plans in motion that would have remade the way I lived had they come to fruition. My husband and I have no natural predisposition for big-city life, but for more than a decade we’ve lived on the outskirts of one of the biggest metropolitan areas in the country. Great for job opportunities, close to my daughter and grandkids, yet sometimes nerve wracking, congested and overwhelming with its sprawl and busy-ness
Contemplating our retirement years, we built a dream of country life on a sweet little eight-acre plot. Our vision came complete with a herd of goats and a pony cart. Probably a tidy garden. Beautiful twilight skies and a slower pace of life.
Not entirely castles in the air, this plan had roots in my own childhood. My children also have fond memories of idyllic days at their grandparents’ house riding horses, chasing pet ducks and hiking around the countryside. Aside from my own nostalgia, the appeal of recreating a similar experience for the grandkids tugged at my heart.
Reality is such a bummer sometimes.
The land was nearly a ninety-minute drive away. There was maintenance. There were taxes. Throw in a few small improvements and establishing utility service and we were spending thousands annually and still looking at a date years in the future before my other half plans to fully retire, allowing us to build a house there and settle into the good life. Sure, we enjoyed a few picnics there. Visits to the pretty little town down the road made for a nice outing. The math didn’t make sense, though. My own anxiety about the effort and patience it would take to get from here to there may not have entirely burst the bubble, but a spider web of cracks radiated out across its fragile surface.
Meanwhile, my life has become more and more integrated in the right here, right now.
Church. Book club. A flexible, part-time job I don’t hate. Convenient parks and green spaces. Great shopping and entertainment options. Most of all, friends, family and meaningful ways to serve the community I’ve become a part of. I hesitate to step out on faith and start over…again.
Making over my life is something I’ve had some experience with. Ohio to New Mexico when I was five. New Mexico to West Texas when I was seventeen. West Texas to my adopted state’s coastal plains just before turning fifty. I have the fortitude and the skill set to manage big changes. Do I have the desire?
Turns out, maybe not. This summer we’ll celebrate thirteen years at the same address. There’s only one other time in my life I’ve stayed put for that long, and I missed that little starter house for years after leaving it. So many good things came to life in that house. My marriage, both of my daughters, my teaching career, all brought into being in that cozy little midcentury bungalow.
Ticking off so many years here means this place now has a history, too. Both daughters stayed here briefly at different times, but this house has always been essentially an empty nest. Not having strong memories of them growing up here made it easier to adjust to sending them out into the world. In a way it’s been a launchpad for me too. I recovered from teacher burnout, weathered the pandemic, welcomed two grandbabies and laid the groundwork for my next phase all from this home base. I revived the landscape, hosted gatherings and took shelter from life's storms, emotional and actual.
The tug of war between what I have and what I thought I wanted was getting me down. Letting go of the dream for myself was hard. The thought of disappointing others who supported our grand plan muddled my emotions further. It came to mind, though, that when I got cold feet just before the purchase several years ago, it was my daughter who said something along the lines of, “If it’s what you want right now, dive in. If life changes, change the plan.” So I did and it did and we did. I took a big breath and called a realtor and put the property up for sale.
A session at the school of hard knocks generally prompts me to take stock of the lessons learned. Pouring money and time into an imagined future that is now mist and ashes inevitably evokes regret. On the other hand, having the wherewithal and the creative fire to pursue such a goal in the first place isn’t within everyone’s reach. Even at my age, I have a sort of restless energy that keeps me looking forward to see what comes next, and I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by people that encourage me to follow my heart.
And if what my heart was looking for in that woodsy patch of earth was a new and improved version of home, I’ll be okay. It turns out, of course, that it’s not about the place. In the same way that the inside of a person matters more than the outside, the inner workings are what make the shell of a house into a home. Take any McMansion or apartment, farmhouse or condo. Fill it up with great people and good food, funny stories and warm celebrations and you’re bound to generate the energy needed to transform any place into the kind of haven we all need in this crazy world.
For now, we’ll stay put. Forever…well, that’s a very long time. Possibly, I will come to view the two-story layout of this house with less enthusiasm as the years march on. Upkeep on rarely used extra rooms could potentially get old. So, maybe, a smaller place, a bigger yard…no goats, probably, but Princess P is currently obsessed with chickens, which could work…