1/11/2010
So I am going to be 36.
I think I might write down what I think my life will be like when I am 56, just so I can bring it out on that birthday and have a laugh.
Being 36 is not a landmark, or an important birthday, or anything in particular to crow about; but I have reached this middle age, and I am supposed to be all wise and know the meaning of life and what the hell I am supposed to be doing on this earth. And yet, every day brings more and more questions. You answer a few, and many more crop up.
I want to write something meaningful, and feel that I have contributed to this humanity. Isn't that why we do what we do? Isn't that why we get up in the morning and go to work? So that we contribute? We are quite capable of surviving in the wild without all the window dressing, and yet we don't, we go to work and try desperately to make a contribution that others will notice.
And yet, I am stumped by the challenges of being a parent, wonder what my kids will be in therapy for, and whether I do the right thing from day to day. Am I spending enough time with them? Am I spending enough time at work? Am I making a worthwhile contribution? Should I go on more holidays, play more games, let them watch TV? Should I get my heart rate to 170 when I go to the gym? Should I do more weights? Should I eat pasta last thing at night?
Should I call my sisters more often, tell them that I love them more often? Should I save more into my super?
At the end of the day, does it really matter? I guess I hope so, and it is the reason we get up every morning.
My father died at 56. I am not sure why that hurts so much today. How much more did he hope to accomplish? Did he face that final curtain and feel he had made it? At the end of the day, that is what we are all so afraid of, isn't it? To die, and turn into ashes and lie forgotten by the centuries. It is why we reproduce, why we learn, why we hope to pass on our knowledge, why we are kind to others and why we carve our names in stone. To fly.
It is too quiet in my house. There is too much empty sound, filled by crap like this.
Monday, 1 November 2010
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
My ideal home
6/10/10
So what is your perfect house? What features attract you to that special home that will be yours forever? And why does it matter? Why put so much thought into something you will only have for 10, maybe 12 years of your life? And why want one at all? Maybe there is no need for a house, you can just live in a rental all your life. But who are we kidding? Even when you rent, you are looking for the dream home. Some people may think that you can just go find a new one when the last one is worn out; but I challenge anyone who thinks that is easy to come and live in my house for a day. Not only are there financial consequences to it, but there are huge emotional consequences also. But hey, I came to this conclusion through living in lots of different homes, and also by not having a home for a long time, so I had time to think about the right one.
So what is my dream home? The home I could spend the rest of my days with?
Not too roomy, I like my space but I like cosiness. I like being close to nature and I would like my home to have lots of windows. Windows that allow ventilation, but can sometimes be closed for privacy.
There should be boundaries to its rooms. Clear ones. No nebulous guidelines of rooms, but clearly defined ones that leave nothing to the imagination. My home should tell me where its rooms begin and end. At the same time, there should be flexibility so that if boundaries need changing, it can easily be arranged.
My home should have lots of space for play. There should be areas where work can be done, as that is necessary, but I mostly want to play. So there should be space for that. Space for music, and books, lots of books, and creative pursuits. I want my home to be open to new things all the time, so it shouldn't be too full of things that are no longer in use, no clutter. That leads to not being able to find things in a home. So there should be empty shelves ready to be filled with new things that can be brought into it. There is nothing sexier than an empty shelf. And when you look inside it, it should reflect the passion and intelligence that has lead to its existence, its building. Without passion, homes are shells, empty shells that look pretty.
My home should always be open to good friends and conversation; good food; maybe a bit of karaoke and movies. The outside areas should be extensive, the sorts of gardens they used to call parks in the old days. Huge areas to explore and exercise in, get lost in. And room for those extra special beings that will always share my life: my kids. Room for them to play, grow, co-exist, talk, develop, change, thrive, play and be loved.
My home should have magic doors that lead to surprising places that I didn't suspect existed, spiritually important perhaps, or places that lead to discovery or exploration. Excitement.
My house would also be neat and tidy, but not sterile. I would like my home to be messy when it needed to be, such as when I am sick and have no energy to tidy it; and animals should live in it among the humans, co-existing and sharing in their lives.
And it should be in good order. Well maintained, cared for. Appreciate in value as it ages. If not because of its material value, because of the roots it has to the earth.
And most of all, this home should feel mine. When I walk into it, I will know it is mine, as it will recognise me, want me to be with it. It will know that I am supposed to build a home with it.
Well, I hope I come across a piece of real estate like that one day. Oh, and do you think I could also ask for it to eat with its mouth closed and brush twice a day? Maybe too much to ask of a roof over one's head.
So what is your perfect house? What features attract you to that special home that will be yours forever? And why does it matter? Why put so much thought into something you will only have for 10, maybe 12 years of your life? And why want one at all? Maybe there is no need for a house, you can just live in a rental all your life. But who are we kidding? Even when you rent, you are looking for the dream home. Some people may think that you can just go find a new one when the last one is worn out; but I challenge anyone who thinks that is easy to come and live in my house for a day. Not only are there financial consequences to it, but there are huge emotional consequences also. But hey, I came to this conclusion through living in lots of different homes, and also by not having a home for a long time, so I had time to think about the right one.
So what is my dream home? The home I could spend the rest of my days with?
Not too roomy, I like my space but I like cosiness. I like being close to nature and I would like my home to have lots of windows. Windows that allow ventilation, but can sometimes be closed for privacy.
There should be boundaries to its rooms. Clear ones. No nebulous guidelines of rooms, but clearly defined ones that leave nothing to the imagination. My home should tell me where its rooms begin and end. At the same time, there should be flexibility so that if boundaries need changing, it can easily be arranged.
My home should have lots of space for play. There should be areas where work can be done, as that is necessary, but I mostly want to play. So there should be space for that. Space for music, and books, lots of books, and creative pursuits. I want my home to be open to new things all the time, so it shouldn't be too full of things that are no longer in use, no clutter. That leads to not being able to find things in a home. So there should be empty shelves ready to be filled with new things that can be brought into it. There is nothing sexier than an empty shelf. And when you look inside it, it should reflect the passion and intelligence that has lead to its existence, its building. Without passion, homes are shells, empty shells that look pretty.
My home should always be open to good friends and conversation; good food; maybe a bit of karaoke and movies. The outside areas should be extensive, the sorts of gardens they used to call parks in the old days. Huge areas to explore and exercise in, get lost in. And room for those extra special beings that will always share my life: my kids. Room for them to play, grow, co-exist, talk, develop, change, thrive, play and be loved.
My home should have magic doors that lead to surprising places that I didn't suspect existed, spiritually important perhaps, or places that lead to discovery or exploration. Excitement.
My house would also be neat and tidy, but not sterile. I would like my home to be messy when it needed to be, such as when I am sick and have no energy to tidy it; and animals should live in it among the humans, co-existing and sharing in their lives.
And it should be in good order. Well maintained, cared for. Appreciate in value as it ages. If not because of its material value, because of the roots it has to the earth.
And most of all, this home should feel mine. When I walk into it, I will know it is mine, as it will recognise me, want me to be with it. It will know that I am supposed to build a home with it.
Well, I hope I come across a piece of real estate like that one day. Oh, and do you think I could also ask for it to eat with its mouth closed and brush twice a day? Maybe too much to ask of a roof over one's head.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)