At least once a week one specific memory darts into my head to pinch me with yet another relentless reminder that there is no valid reason I should be living on a farm with no hot water in the downstairs bathroom, when a year ago, we had a perfectly new house with working pipes.
The memory is of me having yet another panic attack just before it came time to sign the mortgage papers. My husband, Eric, and realtor, Dawn, were standing on the front porch of our beautiful house with 30 minute mow time lawn and flower beds with mint duking it out with the chives side show. They took one look at me and knew immediately that “Kim is freaking out again.” Dawn places her hands on my shoulders and coos in her “time to calm down the home buyer” voice all sorts of positive reinforcement chatter, while my husband is also standing next to me in case I faint or cry or otherwise do something really stupid.
They convince me that buying a 5 acre farm that needs a million dollar barn restoration and renting out our 3 year old 3600 square foot house with central air and bluetooth speakers on the first floor is not going to kill me. Because, for starters, we are getting the farm for a steal. The houses in our development on tiny lots with neighbors a short yelling distance away, sell for nearly what we were paying for a 5 acre property surrounded with protected land and a golf course two miles away.
And we had plans for the farm. That’s what started the whole thing. It was my fault we were in this situation. That day, on the front porch, on an evening in October 2017, they promised me that everything would work out.
I think about that day too much. There must have been something in my vision that sounded plausible, but I no longer have any idea what it is.
The Five Phases Plan
We moved into the farm just before Thanksgiving, not knowing that the winter would be the coldest one in my lifetime. Yes, every time it snowed I was outside taking photos. There is no end to the incredible beauty of a country home in snow. By January, I was obsessed with all the things I wanted to do with the barn. The goal was to generate revenue.
I typed up a document and gave it to Eric because it took less than 2 months to realize that we were in over our heads and probably drunk or taken over by aliens, because we don’t have a million dollars to restore the barn and too many things were breaking in the house and barn that needed fixing first.
In a phased approach, I thought each idea, objective, goal and plan to achieve it stood a better chance if it was written down, organized, prioritized and had time to be visualized. Soul cooking dreams is something I’m good at. I have no doubts about my abilities to achieve whatever I shoot for.
It is the middle of summer. There are no phases anymore.
Now I realize this is a big Universal “gotcha”, which in my experience means that I’m going to be learning new lessons or relearning old ones, without a map or typed up plan with bullet points and deliverables.
I no longer even remember what was in each phase.
The document was lost months ago.