Live the Life You Have

Not the one you were hoping for

Buying a house was one of the most exciting, rewarding things I have ever done — and the timing of it couldn’t have been better. I signed my mortgage papers three years after my ex left me — three years after I lost almost everything that was important to me. At the time he left, we had been debating whether or not to buy a house together — or rather, I’d been debating it and he’d been expressing his disinterest. And once he was gone, I thought that was it for me — that I’d never be a homeowner.

But I did it. And I did it all on my own.

There were drawbacks, though. Buying the house by myself meant I lost the ability to get exactly what I wanted — location, size, layout, etc. This house became available and that was the only option I had at the time. I didn’t get to choose anything.

I had a lot of doubts at the time I was going through the purchasing process. The house is only 600 square feet. I’ve never lived anywhere that was less than 900 square feet. What would I do in such a tiny house?

As soon as I started moving in, I encountered one problem after another. There just wasn’t room for everything I’d brought with me from the 3-bedroom house I’d lived in with my ex. For almost an entire year, most of my possessions sat in the garage, which had turned into something that resembled Big Lots — a huge area filled with random shelves and…stuff. Stuff everywhere.

Here’s the problem: At the time, I didn’t want to give up the dream of living in a 3-bedroom house with a husband and a dog and our 2.5 children. I was so hurt that I had lost that opportunity with my ex that I felt I had to hold on to my hopes and dreams with a death grip.

I couldn’t get rid of anything for a very long time.

People joked about my tiny house — good-naturedly, of course. How will you have a family in this house? they teased. Or, I hope you really like your future partner because you two will literally have to be on top of each other in that house.

I started to worry that I couldn’t even put roots down. What if loving my house meant I was pushing away the chance to have a relationship or a family? What if becoming comfortable here meant I’d become complacent about my relationship dreams and end up alone?

After eighteen months of living in this house, I became more and more attached to it. It was really the spring of 2019 that it hit me: I was in love.

My house had sheltered me and cared for me without fail since I’d moved in. I couldn’t say the same for any of my past boyfriends or lovers.

I loved the light that spilled into the living room windows. I loved that I only have one neighbor next door because to the east and north, I’m surrounded by farmland. I loved the birds that sit in the juniper tree behind my property and poop out seeds in my backyard which turn into a forest of sunflowers every summer. And best of all, I loved that I was able to build my dream garden.

I’m single. I live alone. I own a house. This is my life right now.

Slowly, but surely, I began to get rid of things. I sold furniture on Craigslist. Tried to sell some knickknacks on eBay. Gave away random items to friends and family members. Donated things to thrift stores.

So many of the possessions I kept for my future family started to disappear, one after the other. And yet still, nearly a year later, there are things that remain — items that I can’t donate but don’t want to throw away, for instance, and all too many things I’m not sure I can part with even though they don’t really “spark joy.”

I am trying to encourage myself more and more to stop saving for the future that I might never have and just live the life I do have.

I’m going to give some of the baby clothes I’ve been keeping for my future daughter to my nieces. If I don’t hand them over soon, the girls will be too big for them and they’ll end up still in that box in my garage for heaven knows how long. Wouldn’t I be happier to see Brynn, Keira, and Mabel wear those clothes instead of a daughter I’m not sure I want to have anymore?

What about the dining room set that is against the wall in the garage? The set my mother bought me and my ex when we moved into our house. The set I used to serve family members at when we had holiday parties. The set that I love so much.

It doesn’t fit in my tiny house. But what good is it sitting out there in the garage, gathering dust? I don’t know if I can give that away — it symbolizes so much of what I want in life. But…I’m thinking about it.

It’s true that I’m scared of the unknown future — the path that I didn’t choose for myself and a path that I haven’t got a map for. But I know that I’m anxious to leave the past behind. I’m anxious to shed the ghosts of yesterday, even if they also happen to be ghosts of tomorrow.

I want things to be simpler. Lighter.

This is the life I have now. I am single. I live alone. My house is tiny. I love it. And it loves me.

I don’t want to wait for all the things I once hoped to maybe come my way. I just want to live the life I have.

© Yael Wolfe 2020