Change on the Horizon

07Oct08

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When I got up this morning, it was a frosty 1 degree out. Winter is coming. With autumn, too, comes great change.

I was flipping through my gratitude journal last night and discovered that I hadn’t written in it since last December. At that point, I was saying there was something huge on the horizon, that I could feel it. That our lives were changing, that God had something up his/her/its sleeve.

That month we ecstatically finalized the deal on this house, finally kissed off our smoky, mouldy, violent-and-abusive-neighbours-below, bad-vibe apartment (hasta la vista, baby!), and we moved in January. The house does need updating (green tub and peach kitchen cupboards anyone?) and some major things like new doors and such but those are for now beyond our means. In the meantime, we spread out what we had in our apartment to make this as cozy and welcoming a place as we could. We have been blessed, too, with generous family members and friends.

I have spent every single day and most of my time here since. I adore this place. I am her lover. I am blind to the stuff that needs changing, and instead admire sunbeams, as I did yesterday, bending across the blond floor. I watch Lucy wiggle and run in constant delight with the space, the places to lie, the happiness of her family. I have watched my previously sick plants flourish from the moment they got here, to the point of being almost out of control, which makes me insanely happy. Happy plants are a happy homeowner, and vice versa. It’s as though this place is enchanted.

I have said it before: what gives me the absolute most pleasure right now is our home. It was a miracle that we got it and although it’s outdated and needs a bit of work, and although we moved in almost a year ago, I still find myself mentally hugging her, literally kissing the floor, lounging in her as though she were a silk bathrobe. I. am. grateful.

I love where we are: here, in our relationship, in our lives.

Change on the Horizon

This summer, our first summer here, Colin and I decided to make our home even more a haven by creating gardens we hope to keep adding to every year.  Because we have lots of gardeners in the family, we were able to plant much for free. But there was one thing I really insisted on buying — a burning bush.

Call me weird, but I had just got it in my head that I needed a burning bush as a symbol of my thanks to God, the universe, whatever, for where we’d arrived. I know people would say we arrived here of our own accord, the choices we made, the hard work we put out, but because everything seemed rather miraculous (there were so many nail-biting moments totally out of our control that many parts of buying this house were like throwing dice and crossing your fingers, hoping the dice came up winners), it felt only fitting.

Now, with autumn here, the green bush is changing. It’s alighting slowly but surely, signifying new beginnings, whatever those may be for us.

This morning, letting out Lucy and walking across the grass in my slippers, I found myself stopped in front of the burning bush.

I looked around. Made sure no one was watching.

I cleared my throat softly, shyly. “Um, are you there, God? It’s me, Steph.”

I felt utterly ridiculous, so I shut up. Lucy stretched out in the sun against the garage.

But I continued to stand in front of the bush, in my pjs, fuzzy blue slippers, and wool sweater, clutching my blackcurrent tea.

Although I stopped going to church long ago and have altered some of my beliefs, I still believe in God. I also believe that where I am is a result of all my choices, but I find it ultimately comforting that there’s some other power than me because I oftentimes can’t do shit alone. I screw up, I make bad choices, and I need things to work out in spite of myself. I also find God in moments of gratitude, which means I’ve been chatting a lot to whatever, whoever, God is.

The fact is, this morning I really need something other than myself. I need there to be some higher power willing to intervene. I don’t currently have the strength in me to make major choices or changes, to undo whatever it is we did in somehow screwing up along the way.

In what seems the blink of an eye, we stand to lose our home, our car, our everything, except each other. Our appt. is next Tuesday and as of right now, I have no idea what’s going to happen. This is the moment you blow on the dice for good luck.

And send out resumes.

I know that so long as we have each other, that’s all that really matters. I know that books and blond floors and green grass and happy plants and space to breathe and privacy from others are luxuries others don’t have and are material things that shouldn’t matter so much, especially in the face of catastrophe in many forms in the US; that external factors shouldn’t make me happy, that everything is a result of my choices, and that I can choose to look at this major change as something to learn from. Even that things could be worse. (Well, duh.)

Some may tell me we shouldn’t have ever spent any money (I’m getting this a lot, the scrutinizing of our few purchases. “Never mind that you don’t eat out or go out or go on vacation or shop for clothes or subscribe to TV or that your whole living room was either free or bought at a Chapters auction 7 years ago for $100 and your bedroom was from when you were 11 and also given you second-hand. What about that $200 dream board handbag you bought when you finally got your licence??”)

I smile politely. You’re. not. helping. Now is not the time to tell me you or your aunt in Texas or the children in Africa have had it worse. It’s not the time to repeatedly wonder how on earth we accumulated $300,000 in debt or pointedly ask what our income covers. It’s all relative. Really. We have not been like one of those ridiculous families on Oprah with three vehicles and nail and hair appointments every week and walk-in closets packed with brand-name clothes. My clothes are from Value Village three years ago at least.

Please, go away and come back when you put yourself in my shoes, which, to start with, shoulder $50,000 in student loans ten years after starting to pay them off. Have you really never bought anything when you couldn’t quite afford it? We had to cut off our sponsor kid in Africa for shit’s sake. I feel like a monster.

I realize how I sound, that I sound sorry for myself, and that people are worse off than I am. We are not big spenders. We do without most of what our friends have. But I am quite sure the very few luxury purchases to treat ourselves over the last ten years have not brought us to the brink of bankruptcy. What brought us here was not enough income to cover the debt and therefore accumulating more debt in order to pay the bills, to the tune of writing a cheque to ourselves every two weeks. I admit, what brought us here was our impatience to have our own home because, clearly, we could have stayed in an apt., as miserable as we would have been.

Much of this feels like my fault, as I sit at home, post, work on the occasional job and try to revamp my business. I should have seen what was going on, gone out and got another job, a full-time one, instead of working on EditQuest and waiting for my ship to come in. Now I’m scrambling with resumes when it is too late. But I’ve been too busy being grateful and happy.

The End of this Post

Several posts lately have waxed poetic — in a good way! — about what blogging has done for them. Amy’s is one of them. Blogging has given me the chance to sort out my thoughts, first and foremost, to write what’s on my mind. That’s why my posts are agonizingly long. I never really meant for people to loyally read them, but blogging has brought me that joy, too: meeting wonderful people like you guys who actually listen to me, who know when to say stuff, when not to; what to say, what not to.

This is simply where my head’s at. It needs to be in a better position, a position of power and positivity, and Havi has given me suggestions to that end, which I plan to apply. In the meantime, though, there is no process here. There is only what’s going on. In the meantime, I will be grateful for you, for what I have right this moment, and for my burning bush in the lovely garden.

Are you there, God?

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Tags: bankruptcy, blogging, burning bush, debt, God, gratitude, home