I just got done looking at seven homes and townhomes. I think we've now looked at more than 30. I want to buy, and excitedly I began my search about three months ago. Now, no house found, I'm discouraged and down. I can't help but feel that looking at homes is sometimes like looking at People magazine or Cosmo. Jennifer Garner: flawless skin, Matthew Mcconaughey, um, well, pretty darn good body; so and so, perfect legs (no spider veins-none); another so and so: amazing outfit. So and so: the best eye makeup I've ever seen. Anyways, they're the magazines that start out being fun to look at because, especially at the beginning, all these famous people are caught in these candid shots, and we, (not rubberneckers at all) get a wee glimpse into their lives. But by the time I flip to the last page of the magazine, I feel as though I definitely need what that last ad is trying to sell: a drink! Because I am so far from being whatever all these "cool" people are. I don't have flawless skin, my legs do have a few spider veins, I don't know how to put on eye makeup, and I don't think I'll ever snag Matthew. Pour me a freakin' drink. Inevitably, I end up feeling anxious, like I need to go get some new clothes and a hair cut, not to mention some earrings and a new purse. I also feel really really down, because I am NOT something. All the somethings that I AM seem to disappear. I can't see them.
And it's a little like looking at houses. I walk into some, and they are everything I think I want and/or need. Original hardwood floors. A fireplace. One had a mud room with built-in shelves, drawers and a bench-be still my heart. And then outside, well, you shouldn't even get me started. Some have the most beautiful perennials, and they, in all their brilliance, look up at me and tell me that they could be my friends! Some have screened-in porches, others are situated on the cutest blocks, with what I'm sure are the greatest neighbors (just like I'm sure Jennifer Garner has the perfect life).
I got home this afternoon deflated because the houses I want, I can't afford. And the houses and townhomes that I can afford don't have all the things I want. They sooo do not have the cool mud room. And yet, this is so stupid! It's just like the magazines! I'm focusing on all the things I can NOT have.
Two things come to mind as I write this. First, I traveled to South Africa a few years ago on a mission trip with my church. We planted vegetable gardens in outlying communities, in hopes of teaching them how to be self-sustaining. This one family of seven lived in a hut of sorts made out of sticks and hay. They didn't have a mudroom. Their hut WAS a mudroom. While the guys in my group stayed behind to begin breaking up the ground, me and the girls in my group headed down to the "river" with the women of the family. They told us that often there are alligators in the river. Ok, so why are we getting the water there?! Because it's the only water around. In fact, it's where they bathe and wash clothes too. And when we finally reached the river (there were no alligators), I was shocked to see that the water couldn't have been more than two inches deep and was barely moving. We stood there for a good 15 minutes (which, when you're on the look out for alligators is an eternity!) waiting to fill these massive buckets. They easily hoisted these full buckets on their shoulders to make the trek back home. Meanwhile I struggled to carry two full ice cream buckets and keep my balance, and the whole time I was thinking how horrific it would be to live there. And yet, these women were laughing the whole way, telling stories. The children were giggling, running circles around us. Their white teeth sparkled against their deep black skin, and they were happy.
Second thing. My dearest friends in California, Jon and Abby, and their dog Lucy, live in a...well, I think the term is a studio. Except the studio I once had was 500 square feet. Theirs is 290. I know I know I know...how is that even possible? Well, a ladder, a loft, lots of unique shelving... And really, you'd have to see it to believe it. But they make it work, in efforts of saving up money to potentially buy something in So-Cal. They don't have a kitchen table, and Abby, who is a great cook, doesn't have a real oven. And Jon, who is in charge of dishes, doesn't have a dishwasher. But it works. They are happy. And actually, some of my happiest memories have taken place in that 290 square feet, perhaps because not one inch of that place was empty. There is love, laughter, smiles, good food and true prayers filling each and every corner and crevice.
So, unlike the magazines, which I've chosen not to look at anymore, I still need to look at a few more townhomes and houses, because I do need to find a place to live. But I'm really going to try not to focus on the NOTS. Mud room or no mud room, small or really really small, hardwood floors or carpet, I will be thankful with my future home because it will include the laughter of good friends, the humor (not to mention landscaping) of my brother, the frequent company of my parents (not possible when I lived in Cali), my favorite music and pictures, and God. And ok, whatever, maybe some mud because it's not going to have a mud room.
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