It’s a funny thing. I find as I get older, certain things that used to bother me, don’t. You really do reach a level of understanding, this too shall pass. In other ways, though, those fears take hold and get more firmly rooted. Like, say, fear of the unknown.
I’m at a point where I’m ready to make changes. Not quite sure about what they’ll encompass, but I’m ready. Except, what about that other old adage? You know the one, “the devil you know…”
Fatigue and I were talking about fears the other evening. Not wanting to live our lives dictated by fear. We were talking about our young adulthood, before we knew each other. I realized I used to be brave. Ok, maybe not brave, but braver than I am now. I took chances. Some worked out, some not so much. Yanno, life. It’s a lot harder to take those risks when the fallout of a miscalculated risk involves more than me and a cat. Yes, once upon a time, Mrs Fringe had a cat.
I dream about moving to “the country.” What if we did it? Would it be an easier life, living somewhere the budget would stretch farther? I have blissful visions of a kitchen where I can’t touch both walls while standing in the middle. A dishwasher. Not living with people literally on top and below me. Privacy! A garden. A spot to let the beasts out so I don’t have to always walk them no matter what at least three times a day.
There’s nowhere we could go where our money will magically stretch for a fantastic area, HGTV worthy house, or a house on the beach. A lot of factors have to be weighed in. Cost of living, school system, special ed services, doctors/hospitals, work, somewhat reasonable distance to get to Mother In Law. Let’s not forget political factors. Not every area would be happy to welcome us. I don’t need to be somewhere where everyone has the same political beliefs, but I also don’t want to be somewhere I’d be afraid to state my beliefs, know what I mean? And Husband, who would be very happy if I would forget all about this fantasy and continue to trip over each other in the apartment, choke on the budget, and keep waving as I trudge out with the dogs to walk them for the eleventy billionth time.
If I keep huffing and puffing and moaning, and swear it will all be fabulous and I will wake up and skip through the daisies every day, maybe we’ll go. Eventually. But that isn’t how I want to walk into a big change. My crystal ball is looking a little milky these days. I don’t know if this type of move would work out. If we’d end up in the perfect area, if it would provide enough stress and financial relief to enjoy those daisies. We all face decisions, we all try to stack the odds in our favor. But at the end of the day, big decisions are a leap of faith. A calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless.
None of this obsessing is getting me any closer to the revisions I should be working on.
For the moment, I’ll continue to watch the real estate porn on HGTV while I wonder if I’m being ruled by my fears or being practical. Sensible. Oh gawd, am I supposed to toss my stilettos and buy orthopedic lace-ups now?
And in the meantime, Flower Child and I keep watching our little seeds sprout, pretending we’ve got a real garden. And I trimmed and bathed Little Incredibly Dumb Dog. Productivity, sorta.