Every once in a while, when I'm posting something new on the house blog, I think about this blog and feel a twinge of guilt. This poor blog has now become the neglected blog in favor of the new, shiny blog complete with endless house photos and project updates. I've noticed that a lot of my fellow bloggers seem to have either officially or unofficially left their blogs behind, and I've often wondered if maybe it's time for me to do the same with this one. I've also wondered if anyone is even reading this blog anymore, and if not, is it even worth doing?
The thing is, though, every once in a while I get the feeling that I really need to blog. Like this is a place where, more than once, I have come to sort things out. Perhaps that is interesting reading to some, or perhaps it is only all going out into a void, but it still has served a purpose for me in that way. I'm not quite ready to let it go yet.
I've been thinking lately about where I was this time last year, when it felt like nothing was happening for me. Our house hunt was on hold, my job was making me miserable, and I felt so very stuck. After a lot of reflection and soul-searching, I became energized and euphoric at the idea of starting my own organizing business. I put hours and hours and hours into preparation, paid for some seminars at the Small Business Development Center, met with a consultant there, put together a business plan, and even purchased a domain name and started a website. And now. . . where has all of that gone?
I think one of the most wonderful and beautiful things about being human is our ability to discover and rediscover ourselves, to know that we are ever growing and changing. But I sometimes find that it can also be one of the most frustrating. We want to know who we are or what we are going to be, but we are not static. We are continuously journeying down the path of self-discovery, but we will never reach the end. And it turns out that, for me, the business was not the end that I thought it would be.
I still love the idea of my business, but it's just not who I am right now. The person who created that business idea and plan was in desperate need of work that held meaning for her. The person I am now is finding that meaning--much more than I ever anticipated--in the work that I'm doing. My new job is allowing me to create a new professional version of myself that I wasn't even expecting and is giving me opportunities to grow and explore in so many ways. I feel such a great sense of purpose in working with kids with autism and their families, and I find it interesting and challenging and rewarding. When those feelings of purpose with my new work came in, they sort of pushed the purpose for my business out. After all the work and energy I put into my business, that's been a hard thing to admit, but trying to return to my business over and over again has just felt like a square peg and a round hole. It just hasn't fit. It's not going to fit. And so, for now, I think I have to let it go.
That's not to say, of course, that it will never fit. I love this feeling of knowing now that if the path I'm on now doesn't feel like the right one (and I'm sure that day will come), I've already cleared away the brush and started a path to something new. But, for now, I'm going to tuck the business in my back pocket and perhaps pull it out another day. It's been very hard to do, but it feels like the right thing. I feel proud of myself for all that I did last year to work my business idea into shape, but I also feel proud of myself for knowing that it's time to move on (I tend to advance and never retreat, even when the time to retreat has long passed) and for really listening to myself about what feels right for me.
And I'm not going to throw out the baby with the bathwater. So many other goals that I imagined for myself last year--having more creative outlets, spending more time in nature, practicing better self-care, being more intentional with my time--are still areas that I have been working on and will continue to nurture. They still feel like who I am and who I want to be. And this blog still feels like part of that, too. As long as it still fits, I'll still be here!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Waiting in the Wings
As excited as I am about our new house, I get a little sad when I think of all the things that I've neglected. . . exercise, sleep, seeing friends more, reading, relaxing, reflecting. Having the house is wonderful, but it's just one piece of my life, and I'm ready to have the rest of my life back. I miss the Sundays that Dan and I would spend doing nothing but reading and drinking coffee. I miss the evenings when dinner was something we could sit and enjoy together instead of something we often rush through. I miss volunteering, and going to festivals, and lazy afternoons.
As I sometimes have to remind myself, my work on the house is a choice. If I wanted, I could choose to let the house go for a time and get my focus back to other things. I've done that to an extent (Dan and I have gotten too tired for all house, all the time), but in my mind, so much relies on a calm, peaceful, put-together house. It's difficult for me to look at the chaos around us and just ignore it. From the Myers-Briggs perspective, I am a solid J. Things get done. Lists get crossed off. I do not like loose ends. And I certainly do not like unpacked rooms, unpainted walls, and general mess.
One of my goals in the last year or so has been to make more space in my life for spirituality, reflection, and personal growth. I can get so bogged down in the "to do"s that sometimes I worry I am missing my life. I'm trying to learn to be more flexible, contemplative, and aware and to make sure the things filling my time are those that are most important to me. Prior to our house closing, I had started to do some regular meditations and to work on cultivating more awareness. I was spending more time outside, getting better at doing nothing, and finding some creative outlets. I feel as though, in the last few months, a lot of that has been lost.
I know that, eventually, things will settle down and I will find a new equilibrium. But until some of the "to do"s get crossed off of our house list, there is a part of me just waiting in the wings hoping to make a reappearance. I'm trying to find ways here and there to give her some stage room--taking afternoons off, making trips to the bookstore, and hopefully scheduling in a hike when fall really moves in--but I know that she'll be mostly absent for a while. Over the last few years, my search to find her has not been easy. I worry a little bit that, once the dust settles, I'm going to have a hard time finding her again.
As I sometimes have to remind myself, my work on the house is a choice. If I wanted, I could choose to let the house go for a time and get my focus back to other things. I've done that to an extent (Dan and I have gotten too tired for all house, all the time), but in my mind, so much relies on a calm, peaceful, put-together house. It's difficult for me to look at the chaos around us and just ignore it. From the Myers-Briggs perspective, I am a solid J. Things get done. Lists get crossed off. I do not like loose ends. And I certainly do not like unpacked rooms, unpainted walls, and general mess.
One of my goals in the last year or so has been to make more space in my life for spirituality, reflection, and personal growth. I can get so bogged down in the "to do"s that sometimes I worry I am missing my life. I'm trying to learn to be more flexible, contemplative, and aware and to make sure the things filling my time are those that are most important to me. Prior to our house closing, I had started to do some regular meditations and to work on cultivating more awareness. I was spending more time outside, getting better at doing nothing, and finding some creative outlets. I feel as though, in the last few months, a lot of that has been lost.
I know that, eventually, things will settle down and I will find a new equilibrium. But until some of the "to do"s get crossed off of our house list, there is a part of me just waiting in the wings hoping to make a reappearance. I'm trying to find ways here and there to give her some stage room--taking afternoons off, making trips to the bookstore, and hopefully scheduling in a hike when fall really moves in--but I know that she'll be mostly absent for a while. Over the last few years, my search to find her has not been easy. I worry a little bit that, once the dust settles, I'm going to have a hard time finding her again.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Finding Home
I'm sitting drinking coffee in the kitchen of my new house, looking out into the trees in the backyard, hearing the rain pitter-pat on the roof. The last few weeks have been all about doing and going and pushing through and crossing things off lists. There hasn't really been much time to think, or relax, or reflect, or even take a nice long breath. Even when we've tried to schedule fun activities in between our house projects, there's always been the nagging feeling that there's something we need to get back to.
This morning is the first weekend morning I've had in weeks when I didn't feel like there was something I had to get to right now. Granted, we still have tons to do, but the major things that made our house an unlivable disaster zone (e.g., grease, smells, dirt, flies, and a number of unmentionables) seem to have been addressed. And I think I'm finally reaching that point where this is actually starting to feel like my home and not just a place where I'm temporarily setting up camp.
I recently counted it up and this house is the 17th place I've called home in my life, even when I count college and all its various dorm rooms as one place. Dan's dad was in the navy, so he moved a lot as well. It feels very strange for both of us to think that we are here to stay. That it's worth putting paint on the walls and fixing up things because we won't be leaving in a few months. That we should actually take the time to really get to know our neighbors. That we can think long-term about our plans for this place and how it will grow and change as we do.
We definitely picked this house--with all of its faults--because we knew that it's a place we could stay forever. Granted, life might take us in other directions, but every once in a while I can really imagine Dan and I here in years to come. . . spending holidays together, building a life, having a family. Painting the walls one color and then a few years later changing things up. Spending Sunday mornings on the front porch drinking coffee. Filling our dining room with friends around the table. Knowing that, for the first time, we are tied to a place, and by extension, to the people around us.
I've always envied a bit the people who grew up in the same place, who have only lived in one or two houses, who have always had the people that they love around them. With all the houses that we've lived in, and with our family members scattered everywhere, Dan and I have always known we would never have that. To some degree, that will never change, but I feel as though, for the first time, I have the opportunity to create that. We may not have family here, but we can create a sense of family around us. I will never feel tied to the place where I grew up, but soon enough maybe I will feel like this is the place I've been all along. There are many things about our house that are starting to feel comfortable, but that growing sense that we are where we belong--and that we are here to stay--is perhaps the most comforting thing of all.
This morning is the first weekend morning I've had in weeks when I didn't feel like there was something I had to get to right now. Granted, we still have tons to do, but the major things that made our house an unlivable disaster zone (e.g., grease, smells, dirt, flies, and a number of unmentionables) seem to have been addressed. And I think I'm finally reaching that point where this is actually starting to feel like my home and not just a place where I'm temporarily setting up camp.
I recently counted it up and this house is the 17th place I've called home in my life, even when I count college and all its various dorm rooms as one place. Dan's dad was in the navy, so he moved a lot as well. It feels very strange for both of us to think that we are here to stay. That it's worth putting paint on the walls and fixing up things because we won't be leaving in a few months. That we should actually take the time to really get to know our neighbors. That we can think long-term about our plans for this place and how it will grow and change as we do.
We definitely picked this house--with all of its faults--because we knew that it's a place we could stay forever. Granted, life might take us in other directions, but every once in a while I can really imagine Dan and I here in years to come. . . spending holidays together, building a life, having a family. Painting the walls one color and then a few years later changing things up. Spending Sunday mornings on the front porch drinking coffee. Filling our dining room with friends around the table. Knowing that, for the first time, we are tied to a place, and by extension, to the people around us.
I've always envied a bit the people who grew up in the same place, who have only lived in one or two houses, who have always had the people that they love around them. With all the houses that we've lived in, and with our family members scattered everywhere, Dan and I have always known we would never have that. To some degree, that will never change, but I feel as though, for the first time, I have the opportunity to create that. We may not have family here, but we can create a sense of family around us. I will never feel tied to the place where I grew up, but soon enough maybe I will feel like this is the place I've been all along. There are many things about our house that are starting to feel comfortable, but that growing sense that we are where we belong--and that we are here to stay--is perhaps the most comforting thing of all.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
House (and a new blog)
Hey, y'all.
So, as many of you know, tomorrow is the big day on the house. Settlement is tomorrow, we'll have a week or so to clean (and hopefully get a bit of work done), and we move in on the 30th. Should you be interested in seeing more of the house and following the adventures (or misadventures) of our attempts at do-it-yourself home ownership, you can follow us at a new blog devoted to all things house. We've got some big plans, and we are definitely green when it comes to being handy, so this should be interesting. :)
I'll probably be absent for a while as we get settled in, but I'll be back soon. Wish us luck!
So, as many of you know, tomorrow is the big day on the house. Settlement is tomorrow, we'll have a week or so to clean (and hopefully get a bit of work done), and we move in on the 30th. Should you be interested in seeing more of the house and following the adventures (or misadventures) of our attempts at do-it-yourself home ownership, you can follow us at a new blog devoted to all things house. We've got some big plans, and we are definitely green when it comes to being handy, so this should be interesting. :)
I'll probably be absent for a while as we get settled in, but I'll be back soon. Wish us luck!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
To My Sister on Her Birthday
Today is my little sister's 30th birthday. Despite the fact that it's been over two years since I crossed that threshold myself, I find this a bit hard to digest, as in so many ways she will always be the little girl in pigtails that I played with and imagined with and bossed around (sorry about that, Sis). Though I've tried my best to leave the bossy part of the big sister role behind, now seems a fitting time to embrace the big sister in me that wants to be proud and shower affection and give some big sister advice on this momentous day.
My dearest Melissa (a.k.a. Missy, a.k.a. Seester), having a sister like you is among the greatest joys in my life. To me you are family. Best friend. Partner in silliness. Keeper of secrets. The person who understands me like no one else can.
For both of us, I think the 20s were a lot about answering the question, "What am I going to do?" The big questions were all about finding the right career path, getting the right job, picking the right place to live, choosing the right partner. Thinking over the last decade, I can remember countless late night phone conversations where we struggled with knowing whether we were making the right choices, and how to know when one was right. When we worried about choosing wrong or having regrets. When we compared ourselves to others who seemed to have it all figured out. When we told each other, time and time again, "I don't know what I should do."
Being the highly sensitive, overly anxious, and slightly neurotic people that we are, I'm sure that the "I don't know what to do" questions are bound to continue. And it's nice to know that we will always have each other to call for those. But my sisterly advice to you as you enter this next chapter of life is to leave behind the doing. Let me assure you that, with all the big life questions that the 20s threw at you, you did quite well. I am so proud of the person that you are, of the life you are building, of the choices that you've made, of all the ways you make your mark on the world and make it a more beautiful and compassionate place. You have come into yourself in the most wonderful way, and I can't wait to see all the ways that you will continue to grow.
And so, for your 30s, having wrestled so much with what to do, my sisterly advice to you is to try as much as you can to just be. To know that you have proven time and again that you have what it takes to make the right choices. To know that you will make mistakes, and to know that is okay. To know that you are perfect just as you are. To celebrate all that you are and all that you will grow to be. To try as much as you can to live in that place we lived in when we were little girls, where all that matters is now, where life is not about the big questions but the simple joys, where true happiness comes not from worrying about whether we're getting it right but from singing and dancing and and running and drawing and dreaming and trying and failing without any awareness that there might be a "right" or "wrong" way to live life. And when you find that you're having a hard time doing that, come see me. We'll pull out some bubbles and sidewalk chalk.
Happy 30th birthday, my darling, from a big sister who couldn't be happier to have you in her life.
My dearest Melissa (a.k.a. Missy, a.k.a. Seester), having a sister like you is among the greatest joys in my life. To me you are family. Best friend. Partner in silliness. Keeper of secrets. The person who understands me like no one else can.
For both of us, I think the 20s were a lot about answering the question, "What am I going to do?" The big questions were all about finding the right career path, getting the right job, picking the right place to live, choosing the right partner. Thinking over the last decade, I can remember countless late night phone conversations where we struggled with knowing whether we were making the right choices, and how to know when one was right. When we worried about choosing wrong or having regrets. When we compared ourselves to others who seemed to have it all figured out. When we told each other, time and time again, "I don't know what I should do."
Being the highly sensitive, overly anxious, and slightly neurotic people that we are, I'm sure that the "I don't know what to do" questions are bound to continue. And it's nice to know that we will always have each other to call for those. But my sisterly advice to you as you enter this next chapter of life is to leave behind the doing. Let me assure you that, with all the big life questions that the 20s threw at you, you did quite well. I am so proud of the person that you are, of the life you are building, of the choices that you've made, of all the ways you make your mark on the world and make it a more beautiful and compassionate place. You have come into yourself in the most wonderful way, and I can't wait to see all the ways that you will continue to grow.
And so, for your 30s, having wrestled so much with what to do, my sisterly advice to you is to try as much as you can to just be. To know that you have proven time and again that you have what it takes to make the right choices. To know that you will make mistakes, and to know that is okay. To know that you are perfect just as you are. To celebrate all that you are and all that you will grow to be. To try as much as you can to live in that place we lived in when we were little girls, where all that matters is now, where life is not about the big questions but the simple joys, where true happiness comes not from worrying about whether we're getting it right but from singing and dancing and and running and drawing and dreaming and trying and failing without any awareness that there might be a "right" or "wrong" way to live life. And when you find that you're having a hard time doing that, come see me. We'll pull out some bubbles and sidewalk chalk.
Happy 30th birthday, my darling, from a big sister who couldn't be happier to have you in her life.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
How Can I Love You Better?
Whole Living has become my favorite magazine in the last couple of years. Recently, I read an article called "The Love Experiment: One Question That Changes Everything", and I found it so inspiring and thought-provoking that I felt compelled to share.
The article centers around the author's experience asking the people in her life just one question: "How can I love you better?" Something about that question, phrased in that way, really stopped me in my tracks. When I first looked at it, it seemed like such an obvious question, and yet I don't think it's one that I've ever asked anyone before in such a direct way. I felt so energized and inspired by the thought of it that I imagined myself immediately calling up the ones I love most and asking them how I can love them better. . . until I realized both how potentially awkward and potentially terrifying it might be both to ask the question and to get the answer. Since I first read the article a couple of weeks ago, I've been thinking on and off that it's a question I both want and need to ask. And yet, during that time, I have yet to ask it of anyone.
So, today I share the article in the hopes that a) it might also inspire some of you and b) that a public posting will provide me with the extra motivation to really step up and ask the ones around me how I can love them better. It seems so obvious, but if I want to know how to be a better wife, or a better daughter, or a better sister, or a better friend, perhaps I should just go straight to the source and do both the simplest and the hardest thing: just ask.
The article centers around the author's experience asking the people in her life just one question: "How can I love you better?" Something about that question, phrased in that way, really stopped me in my tracks. When I first looked at it, it seemed like such an obvious question, and yet I don't think it's one that I've ever asked anyone before in such a direct way. I felt so energized and inspired by the thought of it that I imagined myself immediately calling up the ones I love most and asking them how I can love them better. . . until I realized both how potentially awkward and potentially terrifying it might be both to ask the question and to get the answer. Since I first read the article a couple of weeks ago, I've been thinking on and off that it's a question I both want and need to ask. And yet, during that time, I have yet to ask it of anyone.
So, today I share the article in the hopes that a) it might also inspire some of you and b) that a public posting will provide me with the extra motivation to really step up and ask the ones around me how I can love them better. It seems so obvious, but if I want to know how to be a better wife, or a better daughter, or a better sister, or a better friend, perhaps I should just go straight to the source and do both the simplest and the hardest thing: just ask.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Feel the Veggie Love
As you may recall from two summers ago, I am a little obsessed with vegetables. Especially those of the farm-fresh CSA variety. Last summer, we were members of a CSA here but I don't think I posted any photos. Sadly, it was not a very good CSA, leaving me with vegetables so pathetic-looking that they were not exactly worth showcasing. Luckily, we regrouped this year and decided to give another farm a go. We've had a couple of deliveries so far, and I've been pleased, but now that the cucumbers are out, I'm starting to get really excited about all the veggies to come!
This week's delivery: escarole, cucumbers, zucchini, beets, red onions, and yellow stuttgarter onions. With this CSA, we can pick which items we want; this week's delivery didn't have quite as much variety since I doubled up on some heartier items like beets and onions since we're heading out of town for the weekend. We also get a dozen farm fresh eggs every other week. Yum!
This week's delivery: escarole, cucumbers, zucchini, beets, red onions, and yellow stuttgarter onions. With this CSA, we can pick which items we want; this week's delivery didn't have quite as much variety since I doubled up on some heartier items like beets and onions since we're heading out of town for the weekend. We also get a dozen farm fresh eggs every other week. Yum!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Good Thing: Just Lie Down
This is a favorite quote of mine that I haven't revisited in a while. It probably would have helped me to read this about a week ago!
Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important. Just lie down.
~Natalie Goldberg
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Decisions, Decisions
I am sitting at home on a perfect Saturday morning. Dan is gone for the weekend for his annual boys' weekend, I have two sweet kitties dozing nearby, a cup of decaf within reach, and Emiliana Torrini playing in the background. A lovely, still, quiet morning. And a complete contrast to what the rest of my week was like.
Only a few days ago, I was in a complete frenzy, with my head in the toilet and my head in my hands thanks to a stress-induced migraine, wondering how the hell I was going to get through the week and what the hell I was going to do next. This week felt like a marathon where I was pushed and pushed toward the finish line with no stops for water and no gasps for air. Completely and totally grueling.
I have always, always been someone who has trouble making big decisions. With the small, everyday kind of stuff I can be pretty quick and decisive, but for anything that I feel has permanent or semi-permanent consequences, I become a complete and total wreck. Things like choosing a college, picking a major, deciding where to move and whether to take a job have been agonizing ordeals for me. I always seem to worry that I am going to make the wrong choice, even though I know that life is not composed of just right or wrong and that no matter what I decide, things will most likely turn out just fine. In fact, the only big decision I can remember not agonizing about was the decision to marry Dan--which I suppose speaks volumes to just how much I know that man is right for me!
And so, when it came time to buy a house, I always knew that I would be a mess. Just deciding whether or not to move forward with a house purchase is something I've waffled on for over a year now. Once Dan and I found the house we're under contract for, I was amazed at how decisive I felt about it and how comfortable I was with moving forward. I even remember thinking to myself, "Wow, I can't believe I'm not having a complete freak out." Really, though, I should have known that it wasn't that simple--as the 10-day window for inspections and financing started drawing to a close (and as we came closer and closer to actually making it a done deal), the more anxious I became. I managed to ignore my feelings until mid-week ,when my stress exploded into one of my worst migraines in recent memory. So much for calmly and confidently moving forward.
Compounding my stress was the inspection report. It actually came back rather favorably, with no major surprises, and Dan and I were feeling pretty good. But once my home-repair-guru dad and stepdad had a chance to look at it, suddently I wasn't so sure. They were talking us through every ramification of every possible item, telling us of potential costs and presenting worst-case scenarios, and though they were trying their best not to freak me out, my mind tends to jump to worst-case scenarios anyway. All of the information overload and potentially costly unknowns was a deadly formula for a freak out. And so I freaked out. Majorly. Poor Dan.
Eventually, with the help of lots of talks with Dan and Seester and the parents, I talked myself down off the ledge. I remembered that worst-case scenarios were not the most likely ones. I remembered that my gut feelings about the house were good, that objectively the inspection report was pretty solid, and that I had once again fallen into the trap of overanalyzing and overworrying instead of just listening to my intution. Once I made the decision to move forward, I felt perfectly fine with it. For me, just making the decision--and accepting the opportunity costs of that while letting go of alternative paths and worries of regret--is always the hardest part. Once I get past that, I'm usually fine, and I usually realize that the path I'm taking is the one I wanted to go with all along, with lots of wasted energy devoted to worry and overthinking in between.
Of all the bad patterns and habits I'm trying to break, this is the one that bothers me most. My hyper-anxious, overanalyzing self that worries about every consequence of every big decision usually does more to paralyze me than it helps me make the right choice. And I know that it all comes down to the same thing--constantly worrying about making mistakes or doing the wrong thing. And that, my friends, will be taken up with my therapist next week.
Luckily, though, now that the decision is made, the freak out has passed. With just a few inspection negotiations to go, it looks like we are all set to move forward, with a settlement date of July 22. And now that I've let go of all the "what ifs," of all the money worries, of all the things that could go wrong, of all the other houses that could be out there, of all the possible benefits of just staying put, I can put all the possible "wrongs" behind me and focus on what's right: a lovely house in a place we love that's all we hoped for and more. Thinking about that, it's hard to imagine that I ever worried that buying it was a bad decision at all.
Only a few days ago, I was in a complete frenzy, with my head in the toilet and my head in my hands thanks to a stress-induced migraine, wondering how the hell I was going to get through the week and what the hell I was going to do next. This week felt like a marathon where I was pushed and pushed toward the finish line with no stops for water and no gasps for air. Completely and totally grueling.
I have always, always been someone who has trouble making big decisions. With the small, everyday kind of stuff I can be pretty quick and decisive, but for anything that I feel has permanent or semi-permanent consequences, I become a complete and total wreck. Things like choosing a college, picking a major, deciding where to move and whether to take a job have been agonizing ordeals for me. I always seem to worry that I am going to make the wrong choice, even though I know that life is not composed of just right or wrong and that no matter what I decide, things will most likely turn out just fine. In fact, the only big decision I can remember not agonizing about was the decision to marry Dan--which I suppose speaks volumes to just how much I know that man is right for me!
And so, when it came time to buy a house, I always knew that I would be a mess. Just deciding whether or not to move forward with a house purchase is something I've waffled on for over a year now. Once Dan and I found the house we're under contract for, I was amazed at how decisive I felt about it and how comfortable I was with moving forward. I even remember thinking to myself, "Wow, I can't believe I'm not having a complete freak out." Really, though, I should have known that it wasn't that simple--as the 10-day window for inspections and financing started drawing to a close (and as we came closer and closer to actually making it a done deal), the more anxious I became. I managed to ignore my feelings until mid-week ,when my stress exploded into one of my worst migraines in recent memory. So much for calmly and confidently moving forward.
Compounding my stress was the inspection report. It actually came back rather favorably, with no major surprises, and Dan and I were feeling pretty good. But once my home-repair-guru dad and stepdad had a chance to look at it, suddently I wasn't so sure. They were talking us through every ramification of every possible item, telling us of potential costs and presenting worst-case scenarios, and though they were trying their best not to freak me out, my mind tends to jump to worst-case scenarios anyway. All of the information overload and potentially costly unknowns was a deadly formula for a freak out. And so I freaked out. Majorly. Poor Dan.
Eventually, with the help of lots of talks with Dan and Seester and the parents, I talked myself down off the ledge. I remembered that worst-case scenarios were not the most likely ones. I remembered that my gut feelings about the house were good, that objectively the inspection report was pretty solid, and that I had once again fallen into the trap of overanalyzing and overworrying instead of just listening to my intution. Once I made the decision to move forward, I felt perfectly fine with it. For me, just making the decision--and accepting the opportunity costs of that while letting go of alternative paths and worries of regret--is always the hardest part. Once I get past that, I'm usually fine, and I usually realize that the path I'm taking is the one I wanted to go with all along, with lots of wasted energy devoted to worry and overthinking in between.
Of all the bad patterns and habits I'm trying to break, this is the one that bothers me most. My hyper-anxious, overanalyzing self that worries about every consequence of every big decision usually does more to paralyze me than it helps me make the right choice. And I know that it all comes down to the same thing--constantly worrying about making mistakes or doing the wrong thing. And that, my friends, will be taken up with my therapist next week.
Luckily, though, now that the decision is made, the freak out has passed. With just a few inspection negotiations to go, it looks like we are all set to move forward, with a settlement date of July 22. And now that I've let go of all the "what ifs," of all the money worries, of all the things that could go wrong, of all the other houses that could be out there, of all the possible benefits of just staying put, I can put all the possible "wrongs" behind me and focus on what's right: a lovely house in a place we love that's all we hoped for and more. Thinking about that, it's hard to imagine that I ever worried that buying it was a bad decision at all.
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