For the longest time, John and I have been excited about moving. We’ve talked about how bored we are with our suburban existence. We’ve blamed where we live for the fact that we have to get up at 5:30 every morning and make 3 peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. The monotony of driving home from work every day and seeing the same lollipop trees has fueled our search for a house that we think would better reflect our true selves. We’ve been searching for Authenticity.
Since January we’ve been wearing ourselves out trying to keep our house perfectly immaculate, in case someone wanted to see it, and then hopefully buy it. We hosted three open houses, frantically cleaning all day the Saturday before, finding someone to watch our kids on Sunday, and then sitting, wasting our time, because no one even came to the last two.
When we weren’t hosting our own open houses, we made lists of potential houses to buy and toured them with great hope that maybe this next one would be “the one.” We fell in love with an adorable little house, in the perfect location, and spent countless hours imagining our new and improved lives where everything is rainbows & unicorns and the school lunches make themselves. Better yet, school doesn’t exist and we all take long walks to Starbucks every day and recycle and bake in our free time. (we already recycle, but somehow it would be more fun in the expensive tiny house.)
And then, this weekend, we decided to free ourselves. We didn’t clean our house on Saturday. Instead we went to Keeneland. We didn’t tour any other houses on Sunday. Instead we went to Lowe’s and bought ferns and palms and we swept off our front porch and planted flowers. Then I fell asleep on a blanket in the middle of my back yard at 3:00 in the afternoon. It reminded me of college.
Last night, we poured ourselves the drink of choice and officially opened the front porch for the summer season. Sitting on our fabulous porch, we realized: we do love this house. And although we still want to move closer to downtown, into a smaller space so we can use less energy, we should be perfectly content to stay put until our house actually sells.
No more frantic cleaning and worrying all the time about when the house will sell. It will sell when it sells. And in the meantime, we’re going to enjoy this house. And we’re going to stop blaming it for the reason we are bored.
Besides, we all know we’re bored because it sucks to get up every day and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
You might have noticed how much I loathe making school lunches. For the record I should admit that I don’t actually make them, John does. But just the idea that such mundane tasks take up so much of our lives irritates me. I digress…