On a Friday last September, I signed the papers to buy a house. The following Monday, I boarded a flight with my daughter and my dogs and flew to Japan. That’s normal right?
Seven months later we returned, all together, to this house that we own. This old, interesting house that had been loved but not cared for. A house that had been lived in but not updated. And we started the project. Which consisted of many projects. A list of projects, plus all the other projects that were hidden under the layers of the initial projects.
From when we landed back on this continent we had a ticking clock of four months. Four months to tackle these projects, decompress from life abroad, reconnect with friends and family, travel. All of it. And suddenly these projects seemed to be taking more than their fair share of that time. More time and more money and more effort that we wanted to spend in such a short span. And suddenly this house, this project, which was supposed to make us freer was making us feel captive.
The truth is, when we sat down, breathed, talked and thought, this kind of dilemma is so obviously a problem only in our minds. We have a house. A home. Safe, warm, place that we have carved out of the world for our family. In a beautiful, peaceful town in a country where plenty is an understatement.
We have projects, sure, and not a hope of finishing them all. Not this summer. Maybe not next. But we have what we have. Which is so much. So, so much.