What feels like a million years ago, I wrote a memoir with the subtitle: “Your wildest dreams are ant-sized compared to what lay ahead.” First off, I knew then and know now that sentence is not grammatically correct. (Following grammar rules, it’s supposed to be “Your wildest dreams are ant-sized compared with what lies ahead.”) I chose the words that I did because my version elicited a sense of openness for me, that the future could be anything.
Since publishing the book, the part of me that believes in impossible dreams has been dormant. She’s been sleeping because I’ve encountered too many disappointments to nurture that sense of hope. Life smacked me in the face over and over again. It’s what I referenced in the post “Stored Trauma.” Instead of the future feeling open, magical, and mysterious, it’s felt closed, prosaic, and straightforward. I’ve become more cynical as I’ve gotten older and I don’t particularly relish that trait.
When it comes to dreams these days, I try to stick within the realm of possibility. For instance, while becoming a bestselling author is not common, it’s doable. I’m already writing after all. But for other dreams, I brush them aside or scoff when I consider them. For instance, the dream of owning a home in the Bay Area. To be honest, “dream” is too strong a word because I haven’t even let myself imagine it. I haven’t even briefly entertained the idea of owning a house here because it’s felt too farfetched. That may sound funny to those of you reading this because lots of people own homes! Why couldn’t I?
This looks cute. I’d like to live here. Photo by Trinity Nguyen on Unsplash
For perspective, in the Bay Area, homes regularly sell for more than a million dollars. I don’t mean mansions either – I mean a three-bedroom, two-bath house that’s less than 1,500 sq. ft. In other words, a house that would be considered average in many other parts of the country. In Charlotte, N.C., for instance, a comparable house sells for $425,000, according to the real estate website Zillow.
I think you can understand why I’ve laughed at the idea of home ownership as someone who doesn’t work in tech. My response was usually, “Not unless I marry someone who makes a boatload of money or win the lottery!” Home ownership? Not an option. Except, recently I found out there are programs for first-time home buyers. There are grants that cover the down payment. Maybe owning a home isn’t so impossible? I don’t know yet – I’m still doing the research, but there’s something tender for me about remembering with help, all things are possible. Some people call that help “God,” others call it “love” or “community.” But whatever you call it, there’s something sweet about remembering our dreams are not impossible. We may not achieve them conventionally, but who cares?
I dream of a world where we realize we can have what we want if we remain open to various methods and means. A world where we remember that even as life knocks us down, it also builds us back up. A world where we let ourselves have our dreams because we understand with help, anything can happen.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
My apartment building is up for sale. Suffice to say, I’m freaking out about it because I’m worried I’ll have to move. To be clear, the building hasn’t been sold yet, there’s no evidence to support my anxiety, but it’s here nonetheless. It’s here because finding a place to live has proved challenging for me. I’ve moved 31 times in 33 years. From 2012 to 2015, I moved on average every three months. Something always forced me out – my landlady’s dog biting me and drawing blood, bad neighbors, an inhospitable landlady, etc. It’s always been something out of my control so my current situation is resurrecting a lot of trauma because this, too, is out of my control.
I spoke with a friend on Friday and she reminded me that even if I bought a house, something could happen like a wildfire or flooding. Those are real scenarios as we’ve all seen. There’s no absolute certainty, no guaranteed safety, and for an anxious person, that’s the last thing I want to contemplate. My friend and my therapist remind me real safety comes from the ability to respond to a situation. To pivot as necessary. Safety means rolling with the punches.
Not my house but I like the mix of something steadfast with a home. Photo by Seth kane on Unsplash.
Right now I’d rather not roll with the punches, thank you very much. Right now I’d like to hide away under the covers and withdraw from the world. I don’t particularly want to write this blogpost either but I am because this is what I do, I write. I also know there are many people who feel similarly – maybe not about housing, but about something else.
Where do I go from here? From here, I fall back on my spiritual practices, where I always go. According to my spiritual philosophy there is an unchanging, absolute, eternal entity. Some people call that entity God or Cosmic Consciousness or Source or the Universe. The name doesn’t matter so much. My meditation is an effort to move ever closer to that unchanging, absolute, eternal entity and then to merge with it. One of the names for this practice in Sanskrit is Iishvara prańidhána. Iishvara means controller of the universe and prańidhána means to adopt something as a shelter. Therefore, Iishvara prańidhána means to adopt the controller of the universe as a shelter. It means to take refuge in the controller of the universe. That sounds academic, I know, but in essence it means to align myself with the divine.
What does that mean about my fear surrounding housing? It means one way to deal with the fear is to put myself in the Cosmic flow, to allow myself to be sheltered by something bigger than me. To accept the protection of my higher power with the nuance that bad things happen and good things happen and through it all I have a permanent, unwavering shelter.
I dream of a world where we take permanent shelter in something bigger than us. A world where we recognize certainty doesn’t come from things staying rigid but rather shoring up our internal strength and resilience to respond to stimuli. A world where we recognize there is an unchanging entity we can attach ourselves to and that’s where real security lies.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Right now I’m visiting a friend in upstate New York watching the sun fade behind the trees outside his window. It’s gorgeous here – snow covering the ground, trees littering the slopes, and mountains standing in the distance. My friend LOVES where he lives. He cannot sing his town's praises any higher otherwise his voice would crack. I understand the appeal – nature mixing with civilization, liberal attitudes, and a deep love of the environment. Seeing as how I'm a gypsy right now, I'm on the lookout for my new Home. I say it with a capital “H” because Home is not only the place I live – it's where I love, where I thrive, where I feel a sense of belonging. I am not satisfied living just anywhere – I have to fall in love with the place.
This is basically what I’ve been walking around in.
I'm experiencing a wee bit of mental anguish at the moment because I don't know where I'm going next. I don't know where my next Home will be. I don't know where my heart wants to reside. For someone who likes to plan in advance, this is an uncomfortable spot to be in.
While talking with my lifecoach on Thursday, I said to him, “I'm here, now, and I'm sure when I need to make a decision about where I'm living next, the universe will make that abundantly clear.” That message has become even more clear on this trip. You see, I want to want to live in upstate New York where my friend does – it's everything I could ask for, but the sentiment isn't there. My heart didn't open when I walked down the street. I didn't feel warm and tingly when we cruised through the countryside. Every moment on the first day of my visit I asked myself, “Could I live here? Do I want to live here? Do I see myself here?” The answer was, “No.”
I'm pretty sure I'm going back to California in April because it's the only place that still has my heart (you are welcome to start singing, “I left my heart in San Francisco,” now), but I haven't booked any tickets yet. What I do believe, what I'm trusting in, is that when I'm supposed to know, I will. I'm trusting that as with all of my life, more will be revealed. The fog will lift and I'll know where to live, when to go, what to do. I'll feel it in my heart, my gut, my body. The pieces will come together and the puzzle will be solved. Until that time, I'll living here, now, and doing as Rainer Maria Rilke suggests and having patience with everything unresolved in my heart, loving the questions like locked rooms, not searching for the answers, living in the now, knowing one day I will live my way into the answers.
I dream of a world where we understand with everything in life, we'll know when we know. I dream of a world where we're OK with the questions, where we trust the answers will become clear to us in time. A world where we live in the now, not worrying about the future, because instead we're feeling at peace in the moment.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.