Archives for posts with tag: house hunting won’t get you home sooner

I went to bed walking on clouds, wrapped in love, and feeling sure of “my place in the universe”. In my next moment of awareness I am mired in doubt. Restless. Insecure. Uncertain. Questioning even those things that seemed so certain the night before. Questioning love. Questioning the value of taking care of this fragile vessel. More questions than answers, and not the solid sort of question that just by being asked becomes a sign post on life’s journey. No, these were the questions that torment, more like the flea bite on my wrist – aggravating and not worth obsessing over, but I’m still scratching it. As with that metaphorical flea bite, digging at it long enough could do actual damage, rather pointlessly. Knowing that does not stop it itching.

I started to reassure myself, and stumble on thoughts intended to soothe and encourage. I notice, at some point, that I am actually quite awake. 3:37 am. I am awake in the wee hours asking myself existential questions about life, house hunting, relationships, the future… It’s a poor time of day for that sort of reflection. My brain attacks me in the darkness. I finally just get up, feeling some weird complex emotional stew of sadness, insecurity, fear and learned helplessness. Why the ever-loving hell am I putting myself through all of this? (Particularly after such a pleasant weekend.)

Is it going to be that kind of day? I find myself struggling to balance concerns about my health with eagerness about the house hunting. So human. Struggling to balance powerful feeling of being loved and valued by my partner that comes of having his confidence and trust as I house hunt for a more permanent place of my own with the sudden fear that this could mean he is indifferent to the outcome, and that I mean less to him than I thought I did. Struggling to balance my own confidence in myself with the lingering chaos and damage that begins whispering “how dare you?” in the background. Struggling, out of nowhere, with self-doubt about my painting, my writing – my existence itself. Instead of “who am I”, this morning my brain sucker punches me with “why am I?” and I question my worthiness as a human creature. Manufactured internal drama.

When the tears come, I am not surprised. I sip my coffee and snarl back at myself “fuck your tears and your moody bullshit!” In the quiet room my voice sounds stern, and harsher than I mean it to. I haven’t had enough sleep. I’m somewhat stressed about my health. It’s a very poor time to rethink every-damned-thing I’ve worked on while I was well-rested and clear-headed. Certainly, I have no cause to doubt my partner, or the worthiness of life itself. It’s scary to make a decision on something as huge as a house. 30  years of debt. Fuck. That sounds… yeah. Scary. I breathe through that moment and give myself a chance to accept that it does feel pretty nerve-wracking. Reasonably so. The fear is tempered somewhat by my partner’s confidence in my decision-making, but also boosted by that same experience; what if I choose badly? Doubt found its foothold right there. It percolated through my sleeping consciousness. I wake here; mired in doubt, wrestling with personal demons before the alarm clock goes off.

Damn it. I’m also wrestling with my keyboard. I spilled coffee on it yesterday, cleaned it up, let it dry, and hoping for the best, took no further immediate action. I need to clean it properly. It becomes a metaphor in this moment for taking better care, for listening deeply, for following through on tasks, and for patience with circumstances; the “insert” function is stuck in the on position. When I attempt to make a correction, hilarity ensues. I am okay right now. (I am most particularly okay once I notice that my “insert” key isn’t stuck at all; I’ve been tapping at the wrong key, quite ineffectively. Yeah. Getting enough rest does matter. I smile at the journey this small living metaphor has taken me on this morning. I’m definitely okay right now, for most values of okay. 🙂 )

The thing with insecurity and doubt are that they are no more “real” than any other emotion of the moment (and no less so). They have no decision-making power that I don’t choose to grant them. I find I’m still annoyed with waking myself up over moody bullshit, and the less-than-subtle moment of irritation is returned to me as a silent reminder to treat myself well, to show myself kindness, to consider myself…

…I’m taken back to the conversation about house-hunting I had with my Traveling Partner last night. “I really want you to meet your needs with this,” he’d said “don’t be focused on what I might want.” And “I’m excited about this for you.” Is that what set off my doubt and insecurity? Is it that fucking hard, even now, to be really okay with taking care of me? I find myself smiling in spite of how annoyed I am to have disrupted my own sleep, undermining needed rest, to waste time feeling uncertain about whether I know what I want and need for myself, or feeling fearful of committing to it. It’s very human, and a reminder that there is still work to do on this solo hike through life, becoming the person I most want to be. I pause to recall the lovely observations made by my Traveling Partner last night, about how he sees me, how that feels for him, and about this love we share, and the strength we find in our shared journey.

The little house I’ll see today isn’t the biggest one I’ve seen in my price range (it’s also not the smallest). It doesn’t have everything on my wish list (but it has a lot of things). There are no obvious ‘deal breakers’ in the described details or photographs, but experience has already taught me that people will take very careful pictures to avoid showing those off. I’ll just have to see it. Is it enough? For some values of “enough” it obviously is. I set the whole matter aside; there’s nothing more to be done, or felt, or decided, until I see it. The alarm goes off in the other room. It’s time to get up. lol

Today I’ll treat myself well, and with great consideration. The day will begin, and it will end, and tomorrow I’ll begin again. Somewhere in between, I’ll see a doctor, see a house, and see to getting the day’s work done. From the vantage point of “now”, it’s enough.

I woke from a long night of sound slumber. Rare, restful, delicious. I slept in. After yoga and meditation, and putting out peanuts and birdseed for my weekend brunch visitors, I sat down with my coffee and the latest real estate search list from my realtor. It’s exciting to be house-hunting for a wee place of my own.

I look over each listing in the search list very carefully. I imagine waking up there. I imagine walking through those rooms in the dark of night after a nightmare. I consider what the floors will feel like on bare feet, and whether the layout of the kitchen is going to fuck with my head for weeks or months, remembering how confusing it was to move from #27 to #59 – with all the light switches and appointments mirror imaged, and how long it took to stop clawing at blank wall for a light switch that wasn’t there. Those details matter for quality of life. Will the windows let in the dawn? The evening light? Will the house bake in the sun unrelentingly, or offer comfort and shade? Will the winter winds chill the floor with peculiar drafts? Which details are easily changed? Which less so? What matters most? It’s an interesting meditation, to consider with such care what living in a particular space might feel like. I easily rule out some of the listings I see by doing so; if I can’t feel living there with any comfort, I am not interested. (I trust that feeling – some of my PTSD triggers are fairly mundane things or circumstances. If my senses begin to squeal in my head that a space doesn’t feel safe, and I’m only looking at a photograph, I know to move on.)

I chat a while with my Traveling Partner, sharing pictures of places, getting his thoughts. Our individual aesthetic overlaps quite a lot, and his engineering background results in a first-rate reality check on things I am less likely to notice. Helpful, and another way to share love. I am eager to find a place to call home that he will feel equally welcome in, when he is spending time with me. As a woman of 53, comfortably and contentedly living alone, I have learned that “home” is something I bring with me, something I create for myself – houses are what I’m shopping for – the container in which to put my home. 😀 Honestly, that makes the shopping much easier. At 18, and even at 35, I shopped for homes, and felt endlessly disappointed not to find one.

I finish my coffee smiling. Enjoying a few moments of conversation with my Traveling Partner before moving on with the day. I’ve some adulting to do this morning: laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Home-making. Good skills to have, worthy practices for taking care of me. First, a hike in the mild Pacific Northwest winter. Today that’s enough.

 

I am thinking of a hot summer day, humid, sweltering in the still air, waiting for a summer storm, or a breeze, or an excuse to retreat to any room with an air conditioner in the window. I am thinking of the past. It is a metaphor playing out a bit like a video in my imagination. Car on blocks in the driveway, hood up, and a sweat soaked mechanic head down over the engine, peering into the darkness below the machinery, gesturing vaguely with a wrench and calling out probably relevant information over her shoulder. “Yep…Here’s yer problem! Wiring’s crossed. You got no spark.”

It’s not a moment of ‘real’, it is a fiction, and I smile as I walk on toward the light rail station to head to work, thinking about the things that work, the things that don’t, and the colorful gentle humor of the way I ‘communicate with myself’ while I walk – not quite fiction, not quite memory, sort of ‘live action’, something like a screenplay, a bit like watching a ‘choose your own adventure’ video… and as useful as any other thought I might craft, truly, without the potential hurts of assuming it is ‘real’ and therefore more valid, or valued, than other thinking. I let my imagination jump the chasm across my injury to bring insights from me to myself. lol I learn some things through my mind’s eye and the Theater of Absurd Conclusions… and sometimes I just enjoy it.

Spring is approaching. My daydreams are filled with trails, trees, wee creatures watching warily as I pass, plans for hikes, and camping to come, and thoughts of home, and home making. (Go ahead, define the difference between ‘house’ and ‘home’ and get back to me; I’ll wait.) I am in a place in life when ‘putting down roots’ and feeling at home – really ‘at home’ – matters a great deal… but it isn’t something I’ve experienced very often in life, and learning good practices for building a sense of home isn’t as simple as it once seemed in the abstract.

…I am quite fortunate to be well-supported, emotionally, by my traveling partner on life’s journey (and… the secret is out – that’s why he is my ‘traveling partner’; we are traveling, together, on life’s journey). It’s quite a long trip from where I once was, to where I someday hope to be – it’s nice having some company along the way. 🙂

So for now, I walk on, still learning, still practicing, still putting intent and will (and some verbs) into finding my way ‘home’.

I can feel at home in a tent, among the trees... so home is not a building.

I can feel at home in a tent, among the trees… so home is not a building.

There's something about garden flowers that feels like home.

There’s something about garden flowers that feels like home.

Home is where the art is.

Home is where the art is. “Summer Meadow” 12″x16″ acrylic on canvas w/glow. 2014

 

Feeling at home transcends permanence.

Feeling at home can transcend permanence of place, but I don’t count on it; some places never feel like home.

Home is a feeling...

Home is a feeling… or a matter taste.

Something that connects who we once were...

Something that connects who we once were…

...and who we are, now...

…and who we are, now…

...with what matters most. "You Always Have My Heart" 8" x 10" acrylic on canvas with glow.

…with what matters most.
“You Always Have My Heart” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas with glow.

How will I "find my way home"? "Daytime in The Nightmare City" 10" x 14" acrylic on canvas with glow, glitter and micaceous oxide. Indoor light, charged. 2014

How will I “find my way home”?
“Daytime in The Nightmare City” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas with glow, glitter and micaceous oxide. Indoor light, charged. 2014