When looking back at the last several years, I can say with confidence I accomplished tons of goals.
I’ve built a life, a new one, that I didn’t have just 10 short years ago. It’s not a great life, or even a comfortable one most days. I’ve also lost large chunks of my life, some for the better, some for the worst.
A house I once had in town, gone.
A car I loved dearly replaced with another that was never quite mine, gone.
Parts of myself that I thought I knew, gone (and really, good riddance to this one).
A partnership with a shady cousin who took advantage of my family, cancelled.
Quite possibly the worst loss of all, though, my independence.
In these sacrifies, I’ve succeeded in many places. I should be proud of these accomplishments. A solid job that I love, despite it being seasonal. A new renter for the farm, one that respects the land more than the cousin ever would. A ten year contract to keep a portion of our land in conservation (this one huge, and most days I can’t believe I pulled it off despite having little control over any of it).
When I look at this life I’ve built, where I’ve landed, I should be proud. I made it, right?
Yet part of me is restless. It whispers, You’re done. Move on.
That voice is right.
The family farm was always my end goal, my retirement plan, my forever home. And yet here I’m sitting thinking, maybe it isn’t. Or it is, it’s just not quite time to land. There’s still work to do elsewhere. A chance to be in full control of my life, who I am, and how I’m living.
Independence.
Another family home sits not far from here, one I currently don’t have access to because of the way my Dad wrote his will. Eventually, though, it will be mine, if all works out as he planned.
This alternative home I can’t live in just yet sits in what I claim as my home town. What remains of my family still lives in that town, also exiled from this family home that was once mine. Maybe part of the longing for this alternative home isn’t about me, but rather, about all of them, and the parts of my life I’ve lost.
I hate to hang my hopes on variables out of my control. Still, I can’t help but feel there is a new chapter on the horizon with new experiences waiting. A new life, a different life, and one that I haven’t lived yet.
I am ready to cross the bridge when it presents itself. I just have to let go.
Picture taken at my favorite local park, one with a deep family history and nearby cemetary that’s home to several of my ancestors.
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