Sanctuary

Saturday mornings are one my favorite times. The kids are at the babysitter, their mom is at work and Big Brother is either sleeping in, or up early and out and about and I can enjoy a few hours of peace and solitude.

Today I feel like I really needed it. I've been stressed out these past couple of weeks, stuck in a cycle of angst over the swirl of unanswered questions that loom ahead of me. Will Big Brother get the more stable job he's trying for? Will the kids and their mom find a place? Will I be able to get a mortgage?

The mortgage question is especially bothersome. I've been asking myself why am I so fixated on buying a place in Florida? I did post about the timing and a limited window of opportunity that might pass me by if I don't act, so there are good and valid reasons why now needs to be the time. Yet underneath it all is a sense of anxiety and urgency that I know is out of proportion with reality. There are some Big Feelings at play here, and I'm glad to have time and space today to try to find my way through them.

We moved a lot when I was growing up. The first time was when I was about three and a half. I clearly remember throwing a massive tantrum when given the news. The thought of leaving my home for some place unknown was, and remains, traumatic. Although I enjoyed all the places we lived, there was a bit of a feeling of not really belonging anywhere. Then, as a grownup, I finally had the chance to buy a home of my own. But that didn't last either, as divorce only a few years later made selling the house unavoidable. After that followed a long period of living with my parents, followed by several more years of living with roommates. The only truly stable period of feeling like we had a home was our little second story apartment, the one I had to give up to get my foster license.

This house, where I live now, has never felt like home to me. It was always the kids house, their space first and foremost. Then, when their mom moved in and pretty much took over, it felt less like home than ever.

So there you have it, why the stakes feel like they're so high right now. I want to finally put down some roots and know where home is, once and for all. The thought of not being able to pull it off, after all this, is almost too much to bear. I am trying to simply not think about it.

A few years ago, even before I put my three year plan down on paper, I made myself this vision board. All it is, really, is a collage of photos with little captions that I printed out on the computer.  I have a copy here, next to my computer at home, and another at work. I look at it often, to remind myself what I'm working towards.

Frequently, the little voices in my head try to derail me. They tell me 'you can't have that, you don't deserve that, you'll never achieve it."Having a detailed plan has helped quiet them down a bit, but lately, those little voices aren't so little. They're screaming in my ear most days, getting louder the closer my Florida trip comes.

What it all comes down to is I'm seeking sanctuary, some stability financially and emotionally, and some relief from those annoying negative voices in my head.

When I walk Toby at night I meditate on gratitude and focus on being in the moment. I gaze at the charming Victorian architecture and Mayberryesque facades on Main Street and I think about what a lovely place this is, and how grateful I am to have grown up in this area. I pass by my job and I think about how fortunate I am to have it. I pass by the building in the park where we hold our church services and ruminate on what a true blessing the congregation has been in my life. As a flock of teenagers on skateboards zip past I remember my son at that age, and think how glad I am that he survived his teen years in one piece.

I am trying very hard to let those things be enough, to convince myself that what will be, will be, and either way I will be okay. In my head I know that to be true, but in my emotional core I'm not so sure.

For now, the sanctuary I seek arrives in small doses. I find it in my morning coffee, with a dog at my feet and a cat nearby. It is in the walks I take in the gloaming and in the voices raised in song at church. It is here, in a peaceful Saturday morning of solitude and reflection.

When I get on that plane next week - on Friday the 13th, of all days - I will be holding on to the hope that it might be the beginning of a dream realized. But whether it is or not, I will have a whole week to revel in turquoise waters, sandy shores, and time spent reading and writing under a beach side pergola shaded by bougainvillaea.

I am looking forward to visiting the butterfly museum, feeding Lorakeets and communing with nature. I am looking forward to a week of sanctuary in an otherwise turbulent world.