Why We Drove Away From A Dream & How To Know When It’s Time To Leave It All Behind (Part 2 of 3)
Well Hello There.
I’m back in your inbox today because I’m doing something a little different. If you read Trail Mix Letter :: No. 13 you know I’m sharing a 3 part story. An intimate look into our life over the last 4 years and how a dream nearly ruined us.
Through this concise little story, I hope to normalize the process of evolution we all experience if we remain curious and open.
The way we uproot and plant ourselves within friendships and communities, the moves we make to different homes and locations, the new jobs we try, and the vague desires and dreams we chase down, these personal migrations are all a part of what it means to be a vibrant human.
So welcome your seeking heart, the one who doesn’t know quite know who she is. Though, she may lack specific direction, let her innate love for adventure guide you.
Keep traveling my friend and, without even realizing it, you will stumble upon your own unwieldy becoming and find a home within yourself.
I trained myself to love all the driving.
Podcasts, music, deep conversations with my husband if we were together, and children strapped in one place. Sometimes it was even meditative.
We were 20 minutes to everything but two little beaches (which I’m convinced kept us sane). I knew this kind of lifestyle wasn’t sustainable for us over the long haul. Nor was it contributing to the health of our planet, as many environmental studies revealed.
If you love nature, don’t live in it, they all said.
Our carbon footprint on five acres was surprisingly more than if we lived in town, but we ignored the facts and kept our heads down, tilling the soil of our supposed dream.
When it came to relationships, we had a quaint circle of friends, but our actual neighbors were ghosts. Secluded on their own plots of land.
They made sporadic appearances and kept to themselves. Their houses, like ours, sat far off from the street. Unapproachable. No trespassing signs adorned many front yards, and the only highlight was a couple down the road who fed our chickens and watered our plants on the rare occasion we went away.
Our private oasis was feeling well, pretty private. My children’s best friends were the summer grasshoppers and resident insect population. Tucked away in our forest grove, some days we longed to wave to a neighbor, chat with them over the fence, or pass someone on the sidewalk as we checked our mail or went for an evening bike ride.
There were perks for sure- the territorial views, the birdsong, the owl hoots and coyote howls in the night, the perfect porch for reading, the seemingly endless space to do whatever we wanted, and the joy of tending to your own parcel of earth.
But behind the scenes, the word “divorce” came up more times than we could count.
My rigorous homeschooling schedule, turned to structured unschooling, and eventually all but fizzled into letting the kids run free.
Our chickens were killing each other, 6 had to be given away and 2 more were breakfast for the local eagle family.
And our sweet and hyperactive Labrador was the last to go. Re-homed to a delighted new owner.
Our original dream of an expansive, generous life on property- owning a beautiful home where we could invite friends and family, hosting weekly gatherings, raising chickens, harvesting vegetables from our own garden, having a dog, and letting our homeschooled children endlessly explore- began to shrivel us from the inside out.
The supposed restful retreat we had in mind was our most exhausting endeavor to date.
It’s here where I need to admit something a little frightening.
Stay tuned for Part 3 this week.
Questions, comments, I’d love to hear them!
Traveling with you,