The last few months for me have been epic.
Two jobs, two different cities, a new house and plenty of competing demands to be “managed”.
Working 50-60 hrs a week…often no proper weekend, and my “to-do” list still as long as ever each night I crawl into bed.
It has pushed me, bent me, and at times crushed my resolve but showed me such great wisdom I can’t be anything but grateful.
My head and body hurt at the end of each day – from the physical challenges of working on a farm again, but also mental demand to keep each of my priorities in order. Naturally schedules have clashed, missed calls remain un-returned and various commitments I’ve made fall by the wayside in place of sleep, work and rest time.
I’ve never felt so out of control yet at the same time so grounded, present and content.
While I washed 3 days worth of dishes at dawn before running out the door to catch a train, it hit me – I laughed out loud – because I find myself strong, healthy and alive in an imperfect world!??
Home is a sight I am forever grateful to see. Driving up the drive, I curse out loud when the sheep have got in and eaten the “garden”. I notice the growing pile of leaves that need raking up from the back door, a reminder that summer has been and gone with autumn now in her place. Everyday I think “today’s the day I will clean the cobwebs from the shower”…then proceed to find something else to fill my time with (usually cooking or reading instead!). I’ve embraced the space, the silence, that I’m afforded now that I live in the country…padding up and down the long corridors, eating on the makeshift couch or reading by candlelight tucked up in bed.
“Waverley” is still revealing herself to me, piece by piece. No water for 2 days in the first week I moved in (the tank was empty!) then the power goes out for 3 days (luckily for me, whilst I was in Melbourne for work). There is still plenty of empty rooms and blank walls to decorate, when I find time. Add that to the list…
But with all her kinks and crooked floor boards, with water pipes that clang and doors that don’t quite close; with spider webs adorning the windows and possums fighting on the roof at dusk, my Farmhouse reminds me that the wrinkles and bruises and scars we carry are evidence of a meaningful, rewarding life.
That it is all a “work in progress”, to be refined and polished when we find ourselves growing stronger and more certain of what is true.
Here’s to sitting squarely in our own imperfection and chaos, to learning the true art of building ourselves a content, happy life.