Rollercoaster of life

It happened! Not long after my last article, which chronicled the journey of getting a home under contract, we closed on that property! After a process that felt emotionally turbulent and based on a bit of luck, it took a little under five weeks from start to finish. While still basking in the glow of the purchase, the realization came that we would soon need to move three apartments into one home. The downsizing and reorganizing that took me several weeks to do before moving in with my mom would need to be done by my future housemates in much less time. Boxes of belongings and knick knacks have since been packed, opened and broken down. Some are still gathered in corners of the house, while others sit on our porch. We’ve found that we have nearly three of every kitchen utensil possible, in addition to what feels like 31 spatulas. I’m not sure how long it might take to merge our households into one, but I’m beginning to wonder if this delay is not simply due to the fatigue brought on by moving.

I am extremely grateful to have come into a position where we were able to get exactly what we wanted in such a short time. The acreage, the home, the water rights, are nearly textbook when it comes to what I imagined owning someday. I just hadn’t realized someday would be today. I envisioned finding it in two to five years, perhaps once I had built up enough knowledge to farm the land, take care of the orchards or raise the livestock. It feels like I’ve time traveled to a future version of myself that finally has it all.

And yet, I’m still mentally in the present. I still long for travel, brunches with college friends and dates in swanky, dark bars. I can almost feel myself mourning a part of me that I wasn’t ready to let go. I’ve wondered if I can become a person who raises and shows livestock at state fairs, or who spends more money on cleaning and preparing a cistern than I do buying clothes for a year. The latter is true as of yesterday. I feel quite a bit of dissonance between the two identities – like a TV caught between channels, doubling an image that’s trying to focus into one. It’s led to a bit of imposter syndrome and has eventually tugged at the question, “Do I deserve this?”

How do we calculate who deserves what? Does being a hard worker, saving for years or decades qualify a person for deserving what they may want? Does that same person also need to practice good morals, walking a path in life that’s as harmless as a leaf falling from a tree? Do they need to make a good social impact, never put people down while also raising communities up? This list can be added to almost infinitely. And if a person does all of these things, yet undergoes terrible hardship, what then? It seems odd, even blasphemous, that a buildup of good energy should ever breed negative outcomes.

And yet, we cannot know.

I believe this is the root of my struggle – a desire to know. Which decision in my life led me to this point? What if the factors that affected it most are beyond my realm of knowing? Was it in the actions of my forefathers and mothers that I found myself at this point? Needing to know sometimes feels as useful as a dog chasing its own tail. I know there is a necessity to be content with factors outside our control. I know that it’s important for me, (gulp) as a farmer, to do so since I know variability and loss will be a part of the homestead life.

There is another part of me that feels like I might drop and shatter this beautiful home that we’ve been given. I can feel myself turn up the anxiety as I work to keep the house and the relationships within it in good order. I now vacuum every day, bothered by the bits of mud and dirt tracked in from outside. I haven’t yet mentioned that it is someone else’s turn to clean the bathroom, because I suppose I’d rather feel resentful than annoyed if it isn’t done to my liking. How do I let go of this anxiety and perfectionism so I can sustain a life here that can grow things other than disdain?

I’ve been feeling so dizzy from the roller coaster of moving, knowing and not knowing, that I’ve ignored the simple fact that I haven’t allowed myself to have fun yet. Looking at it now, I feel like I’ve been acting like a child who drops their ice cream cone at an amusement park. I’m too overcome with a simple loss of what might have been that I’ve forgotten where I am – surrounded by countless rides. Look around you, Doug, and have fun. Besides, you know the ice cream wouldn’t sit well after one go on a coaster.