Thursday, July 24, 2014

A Stitch In Time

The impossible has happened. Turns out, I was... wrong about the house. You know, the grey one with white trim that I thought we were supposed to move into? No one really told me I was wrong. Rather, I looked in the mirror one day and heard, "Start looking for houses." And I protested with, "But you said..." and all I heard, again, was "Start looking for houses." And so I did. That day. And with a quick internet search I found the house that we now have a contract on. 

Don't get me wrong. I love our new house. It's absolutely perfect for us in every way. It has an indoor pool, (I KNOW, RIGHT?!) and all the bedrooms we need. Plus an open floor plan and pretty floors. I even love the colors on the walls, which means I won't be 9 months pregnant and paint-supervising, (with a mask on, of course). It's near-perfection in a home, and by some grace of God, we can afford the loan.

And still, part of me can't get over the fact that I "was told" about the other house. 

And so, as over-thinkers do, I've come up with a variety of sensible reasons to explain this mishap. Maybe the Universe just wanted to hold me off for awhile, make me think that the house was already chosen so that I didn't find my dream home too early. Interestingly, the home we are buying did experience a recent price-cut, so waiting wasn't a bad thing. Or, maybe, I really was supposed to focus on one thing at a time. First, getting our house on the market, and then, finding a new home. As it is, we still have to wait for our house to sell before we can make the move official (which is killing me by the way, but more on that later).  Or maybe there is a reason that I won't ever get to know. Maybe, (gasp!) I'm not supposed to know everything.

I read a great article this morning about a yoga teacher who learned not to despair when, in the beginning, no one showed up to his classes. He learned that the acts of getting himself to the studio, preparing the lighting and music, and rolling out his mat were all important practices. He further learned that waiting as no one showed, and feeling disappointment, (and I'll just add shame in there, even though he didn't mention it), were also practices, and that they taught him humility, patience, and equilibrium. I remember when I was first starting my psychology practice, I worked with this idea. I would show up at the office that I rented and stay there for the hours that I was allotted, even if I had no scheduled sessions. Just being there was my practice. Eventually, I got so busy that I would relish a free hour, but in the beginning, all I had was hope, and a twig of trust that might have broken if coughed upon .

So, what if the same lessons are being presented to me now? What if I am being asked to take my ego out of the situation and stop looking at what, or who, is right and wrong? What if it is being pointed out to me that although I may be a conscious individual, I am still human, living on Earth, and therefore, poised for all kinds of detours in my chosen path?

And let us not forget the matter of actually selling our house, which is certainly an exercise in patience, trust, humility, and extreme mood-swings. It's been less than two weeks, but stories of houses selling in one week in our neighborhood raised my expectations, a tiny bit. I just want to have it done so we can move, and I can enjoy the rest of my pregnancy without such a huge change looming ahead of me. But I can almost hear the answer now: 

"What makes you think you can enjoy yourself there when you can't do it where you are now? Show us what enjoyment looks like. Take your mind off the move, and it will happen."

This is the kind of passive aggressive message my mind loves to taunt me with. And what makes me even more mad, is that I know she is right.

Last night, I had a two second dream that my husband was shouting, "We got the offer!!" It was only a dream, but for now, it will have to suffice as padding for my twig of trust. Meanwhile, I will try my best to enjoy these last few (weeks?) at this house, and I will be grateful for my lessons in humility and patience. They may not be the flashy and fun lessons that we all love, but, they are just as important; for they just may be the key to keeping one foot in both worlds.