Today for the A to Z Blogging Challenge, I was going to write about H for Health and that’s what was mentioned yesterday on my Gibraltar post. That’s not the vibe I am feeling today though. Although good health is vitally important for all my family and I wouldn’t have my best possible life without them all having excellent health, I can’t stick it on the wish list today. Partly because I feel like if we had our best life possible, then excellent health would follow. It’s a chicken and egg scenario. So, instead today is going to represent H for Home. I want a new one.
I am almost thirty-nine years old. For thirty-six of those years I have lived in the same village. I was brought up here and lived here until I was twenty-four. I moved away for three years around the time I got married and then when the time came to think about having children of my own, I wanted to live close to my parents and we moved back here. From the day I moved into our house I haven’t felt comfortable. I just don’t feel like it’s my permanent home and I want to move to somewhere else.
When I imagined my dream home, I always had modest expectations. This house should really have been my dream home because it fit that profile. I wanted to have three bedrooms, a conservatory, a dining room, wooden flooring all through it and a small garden. I also wanted a terraced house because living in a detached house just seemed very cold and solitary. I have got all of those things in this house, but I’ve come to realise that it’s about more than just how many bedrooms you have or whether you have a conservatory. It’s about the vibe.
I can pinpoint exactly why I don’t like this house but it’s not something I can write about publicly, I don’t think. You just never know who is reading your blogs. But I can safely say that the village I live in doesn’t feel like my home any more. I don’t know how that is possible, given that I’ve lived here for thirty-six out of my thirty-nine years, but it is true. I’ve gotten past the materialistic stage and would gladly live in a shoe-box apartment, so long as I had my family with me and they were all healthy and happy.
Although, don’t get me wrong, if I was a millionaire and had choices and money to burn, I’d have the following:
- a detached house with a small area of land to grow our own vegetables
- a garage
- a south-facing balcony
- an electric vehicle charging point
- a conservatory with blinds and heating
- three bedrooms with an en-suite in each
- a kennel room for Rum that’s inside the house but is his own space
- a utility room where I could put the washing machine and tumble dryer
- a terrace or garden with high gates that Luke couldn’t get out of
- it would be in Gibraltar
But, I don’t have those choices and the way things are going, I’ll be lucky to be able to afford to put this house on the market any time soon. I do try to feel gratitude and thank the universe every day for having a roof over my head at all, and be glad that once, not so long ago, I was in such a good financial position that somebody thought I was a safe bet to give a mortgage to but when the roof leaks, the chimney crumbles, the garden is a mess and we can’t get enough dry days to be able to paint the fence, it’s difficult to see past all the problems.
I blame Instagram for making me feel like my home isn’t good enough. Bloody Instagram.
Tomorrow I’m writing about Interlagos. If you’re an F1 fan, you’ll know where that is and have a good idea why I’m writing about it. Over on my author site today I’m writing about Health, from a Nanowrimo perspective and discussing some of the problems we might encounter as writers. If you’re also participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge, remember to leave your own URL in the comments below so that I can visit your site. I’m falling behind with my visits but planning to catch up this week.