One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time. – Andre Gide
This quote is on our cheesy work calendar. This quote is speaking to me more than I’d like it to.
The thing is, I’m 32 and I’ve got nothing to show for it. I have a husband who is willing to follow me anywhere and I choose to go nowhere. I choose to stay in a job that is sucking my life away because I haven’t been fired yet. Because I am sort of good at it. Because it is safe. When did I become safe?
I have always moved where I wanted because I wanted to. I have vacationed where I wanted because I wanted to. I somehow figured out how to survive in all of these places and keep moving on and moving up. And then I bought a house because I wanted to. And then I got stuck. I stopped moving.
I used to live out of my van. I could pack everything I owned into the back and drive to Ohio for the summer. Then pack it all up again and drive to Florida, or Virginia, or wherever. But now I refuse to look further than my front door. And why? Because I might need FMLA one day. Because I can afford to pay my bills now. Because I somehow lost the ability to start over. Because the thought of relying on someone else to give me hand-me-downs is acceptable at 20, but needing assistance at 32 is lazy and irresponsible. But what do I have to be responsible for?
I want a house that I am proud of. I want a garden that doesn’t require containers smashed together on a block of cement smaller than my bed. I want to take a risk and maybe fall hugely on my face and cry or maybe not. I want to consent to lose site of the crappy, fishy, sharp edged shore without expectation that I will find will be any better. I want change. And I want it big. And I want it now.
And so we talked. Like we do. And we agreed on a plan. Like we do. And I have no idea if we will follow through. But I can’t possibly care. I have a plan. And this tiny sliver of silver in an increasingly dark cloud is all I have to get me through.