Do you have a dream home?
Seems like lots of people on Pinterest do.
I’m guessing that when it comes to dream homes, most of those pinners (and maybe you, too) are much like I have been for most of my life: Not pining away for some pie-in-the-sky “dream home,” but also knowing that the home I’ve got isn’t quite the one I really want.
This was a nice home in many ways, but I never thought of it as my forever house.
I was OK with that. I figured I had lots of time to get to that place I’d really love, some day. Once some things changed, or I knew where I really wanted to live.
I passed nearly 20 years that way, years during which my children were born and their childhoods were lived. Now, they are nearly 15, and somehow it’s only recently that it’s hit me that I’m probably never going to renovate an old farmhouse or raise my kids in big, old Craftsman (two of my once-upon-a-time dreams).
Those eaves. That wrap-around porch. The windows. Dreamy, yes?
It’s also hit me that questions of home have been much like questions of career for me. I just passed my 23rd year of working in education, and for nearly all of them I’ve felt that it wasn’t quite the thing for me. Like the homes I’ve lived in, it’s been OK. Much of it has been really good (which is why I’ve stayed).
But in the back of my mind, or that part of my mind that comes forward as I’m falling asleep at night, there lived the idea that somehow, some day, I’d figure out what my true thing was and that would become my real career–just like somehow, some day, I’d land in the place that was my real home.
This home was more within reach than the big Craftsman–but I’ve still never lived in a house like this one.
When it comes to homes–dream or otherwise–here’s the reality for Cane and me: We’re here, in this home that’s pretty much like nothing either of us ever dreamed of, for at least 10 or so more years.
The strain and cost of moving to this home showed me in ways that my changing body and growing children somehow didn’t that I’m not in my 20s any more. Back then I changed residences only a little less often than I changed my sheets, and moving meant stopping by the liquor store to pick up some empty boxes that I would fill with my few belongings and cram into the back of my Toyota Corona.
OK, so I still hit up the liquor store for some moving boxes. But the number of boxes and bags and stuff stunned me.
For lots of reasons, it’s just not feasible for us to think about moving again until our kids are fully grown and launched; when that happens we’ll be in our 50s (and not our early 50s). I’ve been realizing–because some realizations, especially sorta hard ones, don’t come in a single moment–that if all goes well I’ve likely got only one more house left in my life, before I end up wherever I’ll end up at the end of my life. And it’s not going to be that farmhouse that needs renovating or that big old Craftsman.
(Don’t click away yet! Really, this isn’t a downer post. Promise.)
Truth is, the farmhouses/Craftsmans are younger-people houses for younger-people dreams. Like so many truths that seem like they’ll only taste bitter going down, though, this one’s got some sweetness to it that I’d never have predicted.
Just as I accepted last fall that the career I’m working is my career–which allowed me to find to find new meaning in it–realizing that I no longer have an unlimited number of possible dream homes in my future is helping me find great peace and satisfaction with the house we’ve got.
See, this is the thing: Cane and I are living our dreams, right now, right where we are.
We are living them in our imperfect home, which will likely never be as as charming (or tidy) as we might like, no matter how hard we work at making it so.
I don’t want to waste any of our increasingly limited moments (because really, isn’t that what they are, for all of us?) wishing I were somewhere else. Even if only in the back of my mind.
I want to love this home we have today, right now, with every part of me.
I want to live life with my whole heart, without feeling that I am holding any part of it back for some someday in the future when we’ve got more (and better) counter space in our kitchen or better storage in our closets.
I don’t want to spend any of today’s minutes dreaming about a future when our house is finally what we want it to be, in which I have time to both keep it tidy and to spend an afternoon lost in a book on my perfectly comfortable (and good-looking) couch that is sitting right in the middle of a living room filled with my favorite things and with sun streaming through the windows and landing on my coffee table full of neatly arranged books.
Because in that future? Our kids will be grown up and launched. Our careers will be done. People we love now will be gone.
We are in the thick of our dreams right now, and I don’t want anything about our home to keep me from fully noticing and appreciating everything we have. Right now.
In that some day (if we are lucky), we will look back on these years, and it’s not going to matter that we lived them in a sorta boring old suburban split-level with horribly textured ceilings and no hardwood floors or gorgeous built-ins or picturesque tree houses perched into 100-year-old trees.
What’s going to matter is that we lived them fully, presently, with deep awareness of all that we have right now, today. We can’t do that if we spend too much time in a dream world.
Still, Cane and I do sometimes think about what that next house, our likely last house, will be.
We talk about wanting it to be small.
We love little houses like this one.
Sometimes we imagine moving to the heart of the city and living in a little apartment in a fabulous old brick building.
We like to walk around our favorite neighborhoods, taking pictures of beautiful houses and buildings, imagining what it might be like to live in them.
This coffee shop-in-a-church is in one of our favorite neighborhoods.
But lately, we wonder if we’re already in that last house.
As we talk about all the things we want to do to our home, we realize how much they would make us love it even more than we’ve already grown to. We think about the memories we’ve already made here, the last childhood home our children will probably know. And then we wonder how or if we’d really be able to leave it in 10 years.
We’re realizing that the thing about dream homes is that they are much more about the dreams–and the people we share them with– than the physical structure of the home. Which means that many, many houses could be our dream home.
Even this one.
And that, my friends, is pretty sweet.
Is it the same for you? How are you living your dreams right now?
(Giving credit where it’s due–I’m thankful for two writers who helped me find my way to these thoughts last week: Ashley at The Handmade Home and Lindsey Mead at A Design So Vast.)
Feb 04, 2013 @ 08:07:22
I absolutely love this piece. I have believed for several years that almost all suffering in life comes from our attachment to how we thought it was going to be, how we WANTED it to be. And that manifests in a million ways, one of which is our home. I too am living in a very different house at this point in my life than I “thought,” but I’ve come to accept and love it, and to sink into this truth as the reality of my life right now. Thank you for reminding me of the power of that, today and every day. xox
Feb 04, 2013 @ 12:13:27
Thank you, Lindsey. The tug-of-war between what we want and what we’ve got can wear a person out. The solution–letting go of the rope–is so simple, and yet often so hard to do.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 08:51:47
Such nice thoughts, Rita! There’s something to be said for being content where we are and making the most of what we have and being thankful too. Something I strive for but am always working on!
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Feb 04, 2013 @ 12:15:59
Hi Andrea–Yes, it’s a constant work in progress for me. We talk a fair bit about how to walk that line between making things better and appreciating how they already are, not just in our home, but in all aspects of our life. I’m thinking that adorable new puppy you’ve got is a great example of something that will make life better.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 11:29:04
Great post! I could feel the same way about our present house. It’s plenty big enough for us – too big actually since we don’t have kids. If it were in a better neighborhood…something safer feeling…I could see us being here until we’re old and gray and crooked. Though, admittedly…I also often dream of a little 500 square foot place with only the things that we *need* and a lot less space to clean. : D I’m probably still in the dreaming my days away phase.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 12:19:38
Oh, you know our small house fantasy! When we do leave this place (whenever that is), I’m sure size will be the primary reason. It’s a lot of house to maintain, and we already have a hard time keeping up with it. We’ll have more time for that when the kids are all grown, but then we’ll have no need for the space. I guess I try to keep a good balance between my some day thoughts and my right now thoughts.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 12:44:45
Oh, this is so beautiful and lovely. It makes me think of my parents. We had grown up in a fantastic three-story Victorian that my parents bit by little bit turned into a masterpiece. I grew up helping them hang wallpaper, put in ceramic tile, lay in strips of wood flooring on the diagonal for a really interesting wall treatment in the foyer, upon which my mother hung a gallery of photos from floor to ceiling. But then age came along and they moved to a house all on one story. My mother did her magic there, as well, but she was forever not satisfied, still missing the home where she’d raised her children, lived her youngest memories. And when both my parents died suddenly, at the same time, leaving me and my brothers to pack up their “second” home, it was amazing to see how much life they’d lived there, how deeply settled they became, how much the gardens had been shaped by their aging hands (they became overgrown and completely wild in just the five months of their illnesses and passing). Homes are so soul-driven. We do really put all of our essence into them, even if we are not renovators and decorators. I know that for me getting to the house in Garrison and away from NYC apartment living is partly a way for me to reach back and bring my parents to live with me. I’ve unpacked my mother’s china and put it gently in the cabinets, I lie in bed at night and hear trains lowing and chugging up the riverside (my father was a train enthusiast), and I feel closer to them, even though my home is just a rental for now. Thank you for this beautiful post, and for all it makes me think about. xoxo
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Feb 04, 2013 @ 20:46:12
Thank you, Stacy. I still regularly have dreams set in one of my grandparents’ home, even though I haven’t been there in more than 15 years. I always feel such longing for it when I wake up. I hope your new place brings you comfort after your losses.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 12:51:44
I agree wholeheartedly with what you’ve written, Rita. This July will mark the 25th year in my house. At around 870 square feet, it was all we could afford in this neighborhood as a young couple in our early thirties. Most people considered that this would be our “starter house,” and of course we dreamed of someday having more room, another bathroom, and a dining room, since we can only sit four people in our tiny kitchen. But it never happened.
At this point it would be foolish for us to move. In six years our mortgage will be paid off and we won’t have to worry about downsizing because we never upsized to begin with. The house was never the dream – the life we built together is what we really wanted all along.
I still look at houses for sale online, but not with the longing I had ten years ago. Now they simply reaffirm the place I’m at right now – home. So what if I don’t have a dishwasher or a place to put a china hutch or a craft room all to myself – I have a lot of intangibles that money can’t buy, and I’m content with that.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 20:51:13
My grandparents lived for decades in their homes. (My grandma is still in hers, and she’s been there for nearly 60 years!). Our next-door neighbors have lived in their home since it was built in the late 70s. I have wondered what it must be like to have so much of your history in one place–and I wish I were going to know. Maybe I’ll still get to, at least a little bit, if we stay here forever. I have to agree that you must have a lot of intangibles that money can’t buy.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 13:22:49
Another lovely, soulful, post!
As someone who grew up in a trailer house (with the wheels still attached), I can tell you, for certain, that it is not the physical aspects of a house that make a home.
I think your home is quite charming, by the way. I envy your curb appeal.
Earlier this morning, I was chatting with a co-worker who wants to buy a 1930′s Craftsman house with his wife and two very young boys. They love this house and are willing to overlook the fact that it has 3 bedrooms on different floors ( attic, main and basement) I love Craftsman charm as much as the next person, but a good floor plan is nothing to sneeze at. I don’t want to live in a house that looks sweet but doesn’t really meet my needs. A floor plan that doesn’t work well makes me feel like I am constantly at odds with the house, and I can’t settle in.
Anyhow, this same co-worker told me that his wife and he looked at a split level but that it made her wonder how long she would be able to live in the house before wanting to kill herself. The bias against these homes is so strong. I actually find it fascinating. And, just for the sake of transparency, I will admit that I had my own biases before moving into one. I never, ever thought I would end up in the burbs in a split level-EVER. My partner and I have been together for almost 20 years and we spent most of that time in tiny houses either way up in the mountains of Montana or overlooking the ocean in CA. Now, we have a toddler and a split level in the burbs! And, to top it all off, the house used to be a meth lab! I always wanted to renovate a home, but in my dreams I imagined a haunted farmhouse or ancient Victorian with buried,or at least dusty, treasures in the attic. But no. The house we are renovating is a 1969 split level in a grungy town overshadowed by a much more hip Boulder and the urban wonderland of Denver. Life is funny like that. We love out home. I don’t know how long we will be here, but we do out best to really live HERE now and are very much aware that this house is our daughter’s childhood home. We want it to feel safe and special and full of wonderment. So what if it is a style not currently in favor. What if, just what if, that is what makes is special and fun and-dare I say it-charming???
Feb 04, 2013 @ 20:58:17
Oh, this made me smile and then laugh. The floor plan is the reason we bought this place. (That and there were almost no conventional sale houses on the market when we were looking, so we didn’t have much to choose from.) It wouldn’t be perfect for everyone, but the family room on another level is perfect for a family with teens. I agree that a house has to function or all the charm in the world can’t save it.
Had to smile at the grungy town, too. We’re also in the burbs (a very unfashionable one) on the outskirts of the ultra hip Portland. We love many things about Portland, but we make conscious efforts to find things we can love right here in our own town. The more we look, the more we see. We’re totally with you in thinking that the split-level has its own charms. We think it’s a house whose time is going to come.
Feb 04, 2013 @ 18:28:26
lovely post that rings so true.
there actually comes a time when you realize that your past is your life-the one you were given. there is no opportunity for a do-over, so best to savor every second of life no matter where you are on your path rather than to look back & regret the moments you missed! {oh, and i love the home you’ve made with your family.}
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Feb 04, 2013 @ 20:59:55
Yes, I think that’s what I’ve been running into–that realization that all options are no longer open. It seemed to happen while I was too busy living my life to notice it. It’s all good, but I don’t want to be blind-sided like that again, you know?
Feb 06, 2013 @ 18:47:22
Yes yes yes. Love all of this.
I don’t want to wish away our great little house now, even though we don’t know where we’ll be in a few years. It’s a rental, but we’re making it home anyway.
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Feb 06, 2013 @ 19:33:39
This is a very thought provoking post. I thought I was the only one who was waiting to get her dream home and dream career. I cannot wait for “one day”. It’s already here and I had better savor it. Thanks for making me re-evaluate some stuff.
Feb 08, 2013 @ 14:15:39
I wish I’d figured this out sooner (that one day is already here), but I’m glad that it wasn’t later. Best wishes to you on your journey–
Feb 06, 2013 @ 19:34:09
I’ve lived in a quite a few houses in my adult life: a 1920′s Craftsman which I left a piece of my heart in, a cheaply made 2005-built builder’s spec house which I hated with every fiber of my being, A large and dark 1970s colonial, and my present day home, an old Cape Cod. At one time my now ex-husband and I owned a plot of land upon which the “dream home” was supposed to be built. But it never happened, because the dream was too unrealistic for our budgets, or the state of our relationship. There’s such a spiritual element to occupying homes that you can’t even put your finger on it….it hit me with this house immediately. I walked in the door and actually said out loud to the real estate agent “This is the one.” And it was. Is it my “dream” home? I’m not sure what means anymore. But I do know that over time my heart grows to occupy this place, not just because i loved it when I first set foot in it, but because I’m “decorating” it with family dinners, my teenage son’s electric guitar jam sessions, about a half ton of legos and wine on the sofa with dear friends. In the end I think that’s going to mean more than pinning photos of 200 sq. ft. designer pantries, even if I wouldn’t mind having one.
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Feb 08, 2013 @ 14:19:19
Oh yeah, I can relate to just about every part of this. Never bought the plot of land, but I did start adult life in a 1920′s house and have done the spec house and am now in the 70s one. It’s funny to me that I have grown so attached to our house, because I definitely didn’t have a “this is the one” moment. More like, “this one will do.” I am sure the attachment has grown through the kind of decorating you talk about–the memories of everyday happenings. You’re right: a big pantry has nothin’ on those things (but would be nice).