I had every single intention of writing frequently, with ease and awe and passion. Intentions are much like expectations. I realize how little I’ve written when I couldn’t find my blog document on my computer. I got a new computer long enough ago that I couldn’t figure it out, and that’s sad.
So, I write. I write with the air conditioner blasting on me, at nearly 10 pm, with a day-long headache. I write not because I want to, necessarily, but because I think I probably need to for my own well being.
We put our house, our homestead, our blood sweat tears for two years up for sale. We are proud, anxious, worried, hopeful. This is the biggest leap of faith we could possibly be taking. We are, in all honestly, probably a little terrified in equal turns that the house will not sell quickly and that it will. If it doesn’t, as the days tick by, then everything is postponed and we’re eating away at our savings more and more. If it sells tomorrow, we are hurdled down a path we can’t exactly turn back from. It’s a tipping, precipice, edge of cliff kind of feeling. Also, a lot of hurry up and wait.
I’ll post pictures, a listing, a description. But that isn’t what this is. This is my heart all spewed upon the screen/paper to hopefully lift the weight sunken there. I praise and thank the man who has excused himself to work in the basement, unknowingly given me evening silence I didn’t know I needed. I really like him, even through all this chaos. That’s the silver lining every day, even when I’m frustrated and walking away – he’s my favorite, and we’ll push through.
But this, this selling of a smidge dream. Not the full dream, not even close, but the stepping stone #oneyearplan turned into over two years, with more adventures and experiences and fumbles and successes than we ever expected. Remodeling this house, building this homestead, was a much higher task than we either one bargained for. It’s damn near killed us a bunch of times, on top of the hardest seasons of parenting and togetherness anyone could imagine.
But here we are. He’s already building for the next home, battery boxes and power systems I barely understand. I’m writing, cooking, packing, sorting, cleaning, throwing our house up for sale everywhere I can think of. The kids are existing, one in summer school and one in the forever school of home. We’re thriving, in our own ways in the midst of this chaos (both ours and the world’s).
Some days I curl up mentally, retreat with worry and the topsy feeling of things out of my control. Other days, moments maybe, I grab it all hard and tornado through to do lists. I’m trying to remember that it’s all okay, all the feelings and concerns and emotions. It’s there and it’s happening.
Right now, I’ll believe in the dream hard enough to manifest it.