Over the past few weeks, we've been lucky to last more than two or three days without one of us having some kind of emotional breakdown/explosion. With night falling sooner and sooner each afternoon, it feels like darkness is descending upon us. More often than not, my thoughts fall heavy upon me, and I become mired in worried fears that have me wondering what in the hell we're doing with our lives.
Putting things down on "paper" in this journal has always helped me make sense of the chaos, so here goes. As of this moment, these are the three most notable concerns:
In a space so small, keeping any semblance of order or cleanliness is a futile endeavor. No matter how basic the activity undertaken (e.g. preparing a meal, getting the mail, coming in from working outside, etc), the camper looks like a disaster immediately after. The endless chore of cleaning (or living in disarray) is really taking a toll on our psyches.
Doing dishes every day without readily available hot water does not make me feel like a badass Laura Ingalls Wilder. It makes me feel shackled to this camper like a Victorian housewife. Our tight living quarters do not make me feel like a trendy hippie living in a Tiny House—they make me think people who choose live this way forever are insane.
A major project that Tyler's consulting business had slated for this winter recently fell through. As a result, our ability to pay as we go for this homestead is looking more and more unlikely by the day. If nothing changes, we'll be really lucky if we can settle the last of our bills for this year's projects before it's time to embark on our much-needed house-building adventure this spring.
Which brings me to the third worrisome thing.
Life isn't going to get much easier any time soon. We still have six months to a year of living in this camper before we'll have a house. While our little cottage will be warmer, and slightly bigger, and very hopefully a lot more charming, it won't have a shower or a washing machine, because we don't have a septic system yet. Those luxuries exist so far in the future that I can scarcely fathom them.
Meanwhile, we're dumping all of our resources into this project, and unless something drastic changes, it will be years before we'll be able to justify doing anything but homestead-related activities. Even a weekend away, feels prohibitively expensive. Right now, the future is dizzying and frustrating and everything seems impossible.
It feels good to articulate all of these fears, to try and let them go—anything is better than letting them run rampant in circles in my brain. Despite all of the things I just wrote, I can't imagine quitting this project of ours. We've already burned the farm, so to speak. As hard as it is to be here right now, I love our home. We really are headed towards something great—we just aren't there yet. All we really need to do, I suppose, is take each day as it comes. We'll keep working, and trust that everything will pan out.
Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry - all forms of fear - are caused by too much future, and not enough presence.Eckhart Tolle