Being Home vs. Having A House

When kids are in high school, they are tortured with the question, "So, what do you want to be when you graduate?" often.  At the time, the question startled me.  I was not used to thinking forward or contemplating the future.  We were a family that focused on the day that was and how we might overcome those obstacles. Tomorrow and all the tomorrows that followed would be dealt with later. High School, however, will *make* a seemingly college-bound kid contemplate her future whether she likes it or not.

Even though it felt like I was trying on a jacket that was uncomfortably tight, I followed directions and considered what I wanted my future to look like.  I knew I wanted to go to college.  I knew I wanted to have a career, but I had no idea what that might be.  Most importantly, I knew I wanted the middle class life. I wanted the nice house, loving husband, successful children, and to feel like I belonged in a community.  I wanted my future children to have the same experiences that all of my friends seemed to have.  After years of feeling like an outsider, I wanted to "belong" as an adult.

I suppose most people can related to that dream.  When I look back on the beginning of my adult life journey, I realize that I got things all mixed up.  It's not bad that  I wanted my kids to have stability and opportunity and a peaceful home.  However, I thought that meant that things...the stuff we buy...were a key ingredient to giving them those experiences.  That erroneous thinking plagued me throughout my early adulthood. I compared myself to others and saw the things they were acquiring and decided we needed to have that too.  Most importantly, I thought that the house we lived in was important.  I believed that it needed to be nice...really nice...in order for my kids to grow up successfully and for all of us to be happy.  

About two years ago, I lived in a rambler on 1.5 acres of land.  When we purchased the home 10 years before that, it was most definitely not my dream home. It was too plain and boring.  It didn't have granite counter-tops and the ceilings were too low.  The kitchen was galley style and didn't allow for those picture perfect social gatherings around the ginormous kitchen island that you see on Fixer Upper.  I spent most of the time that I lived in that home wishing that I didn't live there.  "You can't polish a turd," I'd say.  What I meant was that even with all of the improvements we were doing, it would never be the dream home I had in my mind.  

And then life effing happened.  The happy, middle class family life I had worked hard to cultivate was in jeopardy. Where once I had walked through my community with confidence and a sense of belonging, I now went grocery shopping with a disguise and pulled my blinds to hide from the outside world.  I felt all of the success I thought I had achieved slipping through my fingers and I frantically grabbed at anything that I thought might get us back on track.  This house was surely the the problem, right?

So, we sold the house and then for some crazy reason purchased a home 22 miles away in a neighboring town.  This new home was nearly everything I dreamed about in a home. It was huge but also charming.  It had a wrap-around porch...something I had always wanted in a home.  It had charming details on the woodwork and a lovely fireplace with a mantel in the dining room.  It had the kitchen island that I thought would fix our social life and cultivate family togetherness.  It was the most beautiful home I had ever lived in.  I was pretty sure this would solve our problems.  

Only, of course, it did not solve all of our problems.  The big problems...sadness, depression, fear, distrust...they managed to make their way into our packed boxes and take up residence in our beautiful new home.  On top of that, the move created more problems.  When we first moved, I wasn't sure if I belonged in my hometown anymore.  I thought maybe circumstances would force us to create a new life in a new town with new friends.  However, we were afraid to take too big of a leap and our kids had nice social connections where they went to school.  We figured we could see how things played out and keep our kids in their home school for now.  If things got even more dicey, we could make the switch and transfer our life to another community.  It made sense at the time.  

For two years, we slept in a big, beautiful house and lived elsewhere...in my car, in my classroom, in our church kitchen, and other rag tag locations.  I drove those 22 miles multiple times per day; one summer day I spent six hours in my car driving kids to activities and carting myself to appointments.  The wood floors and main-floor laundry were not the source of happiness that I envisioned.  Instead, the location of this dream home made me the most miserable I'd been in my entire life.  

About a month ago, I moved again.  I put the beautiful home on the market and it sold in less than 24 hours; we officially close that chapter on June 30.  I have moved most of my things into a small, modest home in my hometown.  I don't even own this home; for the first time in many years, I am a renter.  It's a fine house, really.  Everyone has a bedroom, we can have our pets, it even has a cute little porch.  However, if I were to apply my previous standards for a "dream home" this one would certainly fall short.  I'm 39 years old with a college degree and a stable career, yet I am renting a home that doesn't have the stuff people look for on House Hunters.  There are no wood floors, no stainless appliances, blah, blah, blah...

Except, this house is more of a home than my fancy one in the fancy-ish neighborhood ever was.  In the few short weeks we have lived here, we have had more visitors and playdates and impromptu chats on the porch than we did in the entire two years we lived in the dream home.  I spend less time in my car and more time being.  I can say "yes" to last minute plans and invitations.  I can go for a walk with a friend without having to consult my planner and calculate the timing.  This is not my dream house, but it is most definitely home.  

What a lesson to learn.