People often express concern about us "leaving home" or "not having a place to come home to." Many think we should keep our house instead of selling it.
But Chip and I have a common bond: we were each the rambling sheep in our family, the only one of the herd that left the fold, that wandered outside the pasture to have a look around. To us a house on land feels less like being grounded and more like being tethered. Sure our house is comfortable. It's home in the sense that it's respite, a sanctuary from whatever is buffeting the four walls. However, it has never been our center, the place that holds our attention or our dreams. It has only been for us a place to safely harbor the kids on their trip from childhood to their newly found adulthood.
Neither of us feel any sense of loss in leaving this house. On the contrary, it's like shedding a burden that no longer has to be maintained, mowed, painted, cleaned or vacuumed. We can both be perfectly content living in a studio apartment, a tiny house, anything until we're living onboard.
The concept of home has always been an elusive one for me, but when I imagine moving into our new boat, putting away our clothes, making the bed, stocking the tiny kitchen, checking the lines one more time before going to bed, the moment when my head rests on the pillow brings with it an enormous, overwashing sense of finally being home. Finally, finally home.
Here I am on the road again
The song began and then in the end
I'll be standin' by the sea --Western Highway by Gerry O'Beirne
UPDATE:
--two appointments to show the house, one today and one tomorrow
--sold many more things on Ebay
--listed the boat on craigslist Annapolis and obx
--have an appt with a lawyer Monday to talk about offering owner financing on the store
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