Finding your happy place can be a literal journey, but so worthwhile
My rancher growing up. After you stop drooling, because yes, that view, please understand that as a 15-year-old, this type of isolation was torture. (Not pictured: Super long dirt road.)
Over the years, I have known lots of folks who’ve picked up their lives and taken the plunge to relocate. Myself included.
For a variety of reasons, whether it’s for work or social reasons, moving to a larger city—or across the country—seems more appealing. Waiting in the new, exciting locale is, perhaps, the ungettable job or a college education.
A select few simply have wanderlust. Those souls aren’t driven by what’s waiting at the end, but to be in a place much different than where they are right now.
If "home is where the heart is," then you need to first understand your ticker. As a teen, my idea of a grown up was clacking around around an immaculately decorated house in heels. (I blame soap operas for that unpleasantness.) Since my mom wore denim and sneakers, I figured she wasn’t worldly.
But after living on my own, I quickly realized that much of what I'd come to think of as reality, was made up. I needed to craft my own normal. And that's when the work really began. Figuring out what really makes you happy is a journey; one that's worthwhile to experience.
Boy... we're talking heady stuff here on a home blog.
Yup. But it's true.
This is me and my cat, Mooch, circa 199-never mind.
Don’t judge the lack of decor. First, we were poor. Second, we were moving. If I’m wrong about the moving part, see excuse number 1.
Know where you come from and where you want to be
Spoiler alert: This is a full-circle saga. Well sorta, anyway.
Most good stories start at the beginning, so let's do this. I hail from a very rural area. Let me be clear. It is a VERY. RURAL. AREA.
My childhood rancher is located down a mile-long dirt road. The nearest neighbor (not related) is about 3.4 miles give or take their dirt road.
Until the mid-90s, our town boasted ZERO stoplights. When we did get the one, it blinked yellow for years so people could get used to the idea. My high school graduating class was a whopping 87. And we were a big group.
There was no all-night diner or pizza delivery. In fact, there's no fast food at all unless you count the local Dairy Freeze. Even though they serve hamburgers, it’s not the same.
In order to at least feel somewhat connected to “our generation,” we needed a NASA-sized satellite in our front yard. If it weren’t for that, I’d have missed Ah-Ha’s Take on Me video, or been unaware of the Canadian game show, You Can’t do that on Television.
Of course, growing up in a small town has it’s perks. It’s a safety blanket as far as personal risk goes. Everyone knows everyone, so you were never far from a familiar face or someone who knows your daddy. I truly believe that it isn't Kevin Bacon who owns the "six degrees of separation” idea. It's rural America. (Debunk away, skeptics. It's just my theory.)
Because of its plentiful and affordable waterfront property, my hometown also happens to be the retirement or weekend destination of many well-to-do Virginians, dubbed "come-heres" by locals. (Fun fact: For the getaway set, the location is both pronounced and written with a drawl. The Rivah.)
No matter how idyllic my hometown seems now—with its vast waterfront and peaceful, unplugged existence—I grew up dreaming big city life. I didn’t want serene. I wanted hustle, bustle, action, nightlife, energy. But most of all, opportunity.
The skills I was developing didn't translate into small town America. I was a writer, actress and all-around creative thinker. My interests were a little too idiosyncratic to earn a living in such a skill-based town.
Did you see what I did there? Using a $10 dollar word, I admitted I don't have skills.
Take advantage of opportunities
When it was time for college, I headed for the closest metro area. I wanted to experience at least some of the action that I'd been watching on MTV. I don’t know which was stronger—my anxiety or excitement. Small school. Small town. Would I thrive in a place where I could easily get lost?
Sure would.
I’m not all that fearless, though. I had my own set of safety nets. The college was small. And I knew a handful of people, so the risk was minimal. Regardless, I challenged myself to forge new relationships.
I’m so glad I did. College was my jam. It was definitely one of the best times of my life. I met people from all across the country and got to do things that I never thought possible. Writing. Traveling. Sailing. I decided to lead with yes, not no. When an opportunity arose, I accepted.
Humans are funny creatures. Placed in unfamiliar territory, we will create an environment of comfort and security. College wasn’t much different than life in a small town after I got the hang of things.
Keep moving forward, you'll find it
Post college, I moved around a lot. After 18 years of not moving an inch, I was moving every year.
Some sympathy vibes need to go to my brother, Michael. He took on the responsibility of physically getting my stuff to the next apartment. He had a truck and didn't mind escaping to Va. Beach from time-to-time. (Bikinis and people over 21 and all.)
After that last move to the Oceanfront, though.... the one in a hurricane... he was overjoyed when I decided to stay put for a bit. Shuttling boxes in gale-forced winds proved worth it. She the cutest little cape within walking distance to nightlife.
Proximity aside, she was full of all the character a future real estate agent would love. There were dormer windows in a cozy refinished attic space with a deep jacuzzi tub. The side boasted a screened-in porch primed for people watching. And the backyard was perfect for friends to hang out, which they did frequently.
I was beginning to feel the satisfaction of nesting and building a home space. I started to feel the pull of having a place all my own.
In fact, this dream affected almost all roomies who coasted through 24th Street. Sure it could have been our age. Perhaps it was our time to grow up. But I choose to believe that this cape was a gateway drug to homeownership and (possibly) maturity.
“ ...no matter how much time had past, it immediately felt like coming home.”
"Home" might be where you least expect it
After a nice rest for a period of years, my last and final "big" move was just two hours or so north—from Va. Beach to Richmond.
Richmond is essentially like my hometown in a bigger package. It was some place that I always said I'd never end up. It was too similar. Too close for comfort.
From the first thought, the move just made sense. And it felt right. After about two phone calls, I landed a job that valued my skills. And in the midst of an INSANE housing market (anyone remember 2003?), I found the cutest bungalow in a sought-after part of town with a front porch perfect for evening or morning beverages.
No matter how much time had past, it felt like yesterday. You know the feeling, right? Chatting with a dear friend for the first time in 10 years, and you pick up right where you left off.
That's how it was. It was like I never left. To sweeten the tea, within a matter of months, I found the love of my life.
Fast forward a lotta years and I can say that I have found my happy place. I even have a small bungalow nesled down the mile-long dirt road that I abhored. I'm a weekender now. But will never be a "come-here."
The love affair with that first cape in Va. Beach just kept evolving and I now find myself enamoued (errr, obsessed) with homes. Professionally, I've decided to decicate my time to sharing that love and helping others experience it too.
Looking back, my journey to [here] has been full of twists and turns (still is for that matter). However, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Each place I landed taught me something. And my continual move forwarded kept me in constant refinement.
Here's to transformation. The home kind, and hte personal kind.
Clinks glasses