When Jeff read that I was longing for a view, he started searching for a new house. We hadn't discussed moving, and it's been a bit of a thing for me, to remind people that we live in a tiny house and we make it work neener neener! But maybe that's not true. Perhaps it's not really working so much anymore. There I was stuck on keeping up appearances for whatever reason, not realizing I was denying myself permission to dream of anything more.
He sent me a link to a dream home. It has a barn (and a fat barn cat). And an art studio with a Diff'rent Strokes winding staircase. And so many windows. With that one link, it was like he gave me the world.
The house with a view.
I didn't ever see this coming, because I was more focused on looking at all the things that I thought made it impossible to hope. In my mind I thought that fence around my heart was a good thing, I thought this was high living. What I was supposed to want. I thought because we had everything we needed, I shouldn't long for more.
An amazing, more than I could have imagined to ask for kind of view.
In letting all that go, there it was waiting for me. We went to see it yesterday. I feel such a peace about this house and love it so much that it's okay if it sells to someone else tomorrow. Whoever moves in will get something amazing. If it can wait for us, then it is ours. I told Jeff I just feel like there is a hand on our shoulders saying, you are headed in the right direction. This is only the beginning.
I entered into this year with a vision of taking a break. The first thing I did was quit most of my freelance jobs, including writing for Babble. While it was great pay, I didn't find it to be the best compensation for the time and joy that was chiseled away because of it. It's been a few months now and I couldn't be more happy and proud of my decision. Of course, I would never know I'd feel this way if I hadn't tried it in the first place. Life is funny like that.
I want to be paid for my writing but I don't. And oh how I get why some of the most amazing artists died poor. I rebel against the idea that you should try to make a business out of everything you love to do. I don't want to have to draw you in other than that you just happened to be here. I don't want to trick you. I want you to want to read. And I want to walk away and I want to hate it and I want to be so afraid of losing it and I want to come back.
This week I'm driving to Nashville for Blissdom and will be a community leader for a few writing sessions. I wrestle with utter excitement and feeling like the biggest phony - here I am with a burning desire to get rid of what so many bloggers hope to gain, definitely knowing that I am over the disappointment of working with brands, and a fresh belief that the best part of blogging is the freedom to walk away. I don't know how to explain why I do what I do, because even I don't know. And I don't want to have to know. But I also take heart because I'm not the only one.
I want to live in a home that doesn't make me want to leave. That doesn't have me longing for Paris or a vacation. Someplace that satisfies my heart so that I can tend to all of the other things.
I want to write and know it's me.