First off, can I just say, Shop Rite, that putting cinnamon raisin bagels in the section of gluten free foods, only to find that they are not gluten free is cruel. Luckily, I have become a bit of a maniac with nutritional labels. You bastards.
Anyways, now that is off my chest I can continue.
My mom used to own a house. We never had our own house growing up, but after my grandmother passed away she was given monies from the estate that enabled her to buy her own house. Of course, at this point, I was around 18 and decided I was not ready to move at that time so I stayed in the apartment that we were renting and she moved onto the next chapter of “Life’s Big Adventure”. I did end up moving into there at some point, when the apartment didn’t work out (random stranger moving up from South Carolina probably didn’t help, but hey, adventures are about the unexpected).
It was a nice house, 6 bedrooms, a yard with strawberries and blueberries. I remember once my girl K and I had a picnic in the backyard, behind the bushes, and it was almost like being in a magical garden. At least, that is how it felt to me. It had a lot of potential.
For whatever reasons, chaos looms, as it does, and the potential turned into lacking. Grass grew too high, things piled up wherever they could, and it just didn’t look as pretty. My mom had some demons of her own that I think prevented her maybe from caring about this portion of home ownership, my stepfather was probably just worn out, K had moved onto her next chapter, I had a baby and was moving slowly down my own path. The siblings were kinda too young and in some ways probably learning life lessons that they didn’t need to learn.
My mom ended up leaving the house and moved into a rental house. It’s a bit different, renting vs. buying. You can do your thing and when something breaks someone else with fix it. For me at this stage it is perfect, because I am at a loss with a tool box, which is why I haven’t been on the lookout for my own house. She is happy, and I guess that is the important thing, right friends? I do often wonder if she misses that house. If she misses owning it, misses that feeling in the beginning of potential. I know I miss the fruit bushes and that day where I had a magical picnic in some magical bushes.
I thought about the house today when I was dropping my brother off at home. We drive by the exit, and I will almost always think about it when I drive by. I have driven by it before, just to see, and I know I am not the only person to take a drive down memory lane. It was beautiful, this old house. It was fixed up and it even had additions built onto it. I wanted to park for a moment, and just let the memories wash over me, but I realized that would be especially creepy. I was happy for the house, though. I was happy that someone else had seen the potential.
Now that I think about it, houses are a bit like people. We all have this potential, these promises of futures. Sometimes people enter our soul space, and they may have all the best intentions in the world, but instead of adding to our beauty, it just makes us convoluted. We aren’t taken care of in the way we need to be taken care and we become shades of what we used to be. It isn’t anyone’s fault, maybe there are demons, or maybe it just wasn’t the right home.
The point is that something or someone can come along and just belong. There is no more imagining, there are actions. Next thing you know after a fresh coat of paint, maybe a mow, you have an addition that just makes it better. Additions, people! It adds value in the long term, and even if they don’t stay, your addition will.
We don’t stop losing our potential. We always have it in there, but as I have learned sometimes those we choose to move into our soul spaces don’t always have the tools or the ability to utilize it and we end up with debris and overhead growth. Be your potential. Imagine it and then make it possible.
And for goodness sakes, read the nutritional labels before you buy cinnamon raisin bagels in the gluten free section. I’m glad I did all of the above.