I have a dream of moving back to the forest. Not deep in the forest with no electricity and compostable toilets, but a small town nestled snuggly in the mountains and forest that stretch on forever. I dream of two-lane roads, small populations, a tribe of some sort, living where all the artist go to be inspired or retire, where the air is clean, the crowds small, and I can walk with the boys to a coffee shop not owned by Starbucks or some big corporation. I want to escape the mainstream yet still be a part of humanity…just on a smaller scale.
I love everything cozy, colorful, charming, quaint, victorian or from another era. I feel I’ve reincarnated into this day and age but was not ready emotionally at all. I’m still on some farm in the 19th century and take trips to a small town to pick up flour and coffee or maybe I do live in town but life is simpler, quieter. A time when people sat with each other and there was no cell phone to focus on, only the person they were with and the sounds of the wind or birds chirping in the trees all around.
For eight months I have searched the market for a home we can afford. It ain’t easy when you have a small loan and smaller savings, and the housing market is higher than pre-2008 housing market crash. People are selling shacks for outrageous amounts. So, being we have a beer budget and can’t afford to have the champagne taste, I have found a few broken-down homes and we proceeded to purchase them. Not one of them has worked out. One house was swept right out from under our nose as we were signing the papers, one house we tangled with twice and the second time we wound up doing work on the house but it had so many issues and when the realtor on the seller’s side ask that we split a large electricians bill we backed out. That and the house was truly a tear down in the end. Then we found a straw bale house and that turned out to be a short sale (ironically it’s one of the longest sales one can experience). The bank later decided to let it go into foreclosure rather than let us deal with its various issues. Now I have an offer that I’m waiting on the verdict…which, not to be ‘poor me’, but it will probably be another ‘not going to happen’.
This is the last house out there we can offer on for now. If this house doesn’t happen we will have to throw in the towel and return to our lives. We will continue to save and dream and one day it will happen. However, I’m not really good with one day. Once I get an idea in my craw, I want it to happen like yesterday. It should have happened before I even completely formulated the idea in my head. That’s what I think. But the Universe is not working with me here at all.
I will cry, throw a tantrum, feel sorry for myself, overeat for a couple days, overeat foods with lots of grease and flour so as to sedate myself somewhat. Legal forms of lithium. I do have children after all so I can’t completely check out.
I am big into metaphysics, Dr. Joe Dispenza, and such. I also believe the old saying, “there is your plan and then there is God’s plan.” Who knows. All I know is that sometimes things flow and happen quickly and I love it. Some dreams are painfully slow in coming.
I was just a few months from turning forty-one years old when I finally married for the first time in my life. I was forty-one and forty-three when I had my two sons. I was that girl that wanted to marry and have a ton of children at fifteen years of age. I cried, tore at my robs, gnashed my teeth, shook my fist at the sky, begged, drank, had real tantrums. I went through an awful date after awful date, had the wrong man in different clothes and different times over and over. I moved and changed jobs a hundred times.
But I had lessons. Big, huge, hairy, scary lesson to heal, to change, to transform and at last, to blossom and thrive before I could attract a truly good man who would make a devoted husband and kind father. Which is what I wanted and needed at the core of the dream. I didn’t want any man or marriage. I wanted a good man and a strong marriage so I could safely raise children in a lovely environment that I didn’t have in my childhood. Turns out it took a few decades.
I remember my 40th birthday and the phone calls I made afterward. One friend said there was still hope. “No, you won’t die alone with your hound and two nasty cats. I see you having two children.” Even I had to snort in disbelief at this. Another friend agreed that fate seemed clearly for me to be alone with my hound and two nasty cats and children would not be my future.
I still didn’t give up. The neighbors across the street had a garage sale with some other families and there was a nice overstuffed rocker. “I nursed all my babies in this rocker.” The woman said. I gave her $20 and hauled it home. I then went on a date with the Circle K manager that had been interested for almost a year but I just didn’t think he was the one.
A couple years later I was married to Mr. Circle K and nursing the first of two sons in that overstuffed rocker. In the words of a Bonnie Raitt song, “Just in the knick of time.”
I used to dream of being a writer. I would journal all the time and as a little child, I would write and illustrate tiny books with cut out pages stapled together. But I didn’t go to college for writing, I didn’t write books past my tiny child years, I couldn’t even think up a story to save my life. I could journal my distraught emotions and that was it. And pose in the mirror and fantasize about being a popular author and what my photo would look like on the back of the book.
I started writing in my late thirties after sobering up from years of drinking wine and smoking pot. It’s amazing what one accomplishes when the mind is cleared and reconnected to the Source. I wrote a whole novel on my life that turned out to be cathartic but nothing more. I wrote a book on the first year of sobriety that I didn’t publish for years.
I truly began a writing career in earnest at forty-four. I learned to self publish, market, make covers for my books, published in ebook and paperback, edit…all for free because I had no choice. We had small savings and didn’t touch it. That was for our first house. I was a horrible editor and proofreader and my covers looked homemade. But I started to sell books and make money. I put book after book out and then went on to fiction. After a couple years I was making enough to buy nice professionally designed covers and pay a friend to edit and proofread.
Today I have a blog, a YouTube channel and I sell on average 15 to 35 books a day. I am thriving in all three hobbies. It has taken five years of being devoted and working daily…sometimes nightly as well.
So, the lesson is this; if something calls to you, first throw out all logic and rational thinking. Second, jump, leap, run to it, dive into it. Third, don’t expect anything to transpire or grow overnight. Corn doesn’t grow overnight, it takes a season before it is tall and ripe.
What calls to you?
A song to listen to while contemplating this: (I tried to paste the video from YouTube but it won’t let me) Xavier Rudd, Follow the Sun and his other song (even better) Walk Away…find it on YouTube.