My home is rotten, my home is a tin can. My home is also where my heart is.
It takes at least 3 generations to break a family out of the poverty line. Something like that, I recall during one of my recent late night “reading” or “scrolling through my phone in the dark” sessions. The modern day equivalent of what one may have imagined as flipping through a book or a magazine just a decade ago.
This one little piece of information, as inoffensive as can be, brings me such great anxieties.
Do you ever live in fear of repeating the same exact mistakes you were born into?
I’m constantly at ends with myself. Constantly wondering if it’s just a self fulfilling prophecy. At the same time, I find myself longing for the irresponsible pastimes that I know would get me in the very same spot I’m so afraid of being in.
What truly matters in life? Is it being comfortable, having something people would be proud of?
Is it something else entirely, some other random thing that brings you personal joy? Or is it a number of things, the variety of experience itself that lends to you your happiness?
I’ve been so tired lately, and so sad, I am missing things. Im working my life away, and when I am not working I am trying my absolute best to turn something terrible into something beautiful- which can sometimes be a simple task but it gets quite complicated when that terrible something is a ruined home, and that beautiful thing is a restored, beautiful home.
It feels like I cannot rest and I am overwhelmed. I am 26 and I didn’t know this would happen to me and I am wholeheartedly overwhelmed.
I own this terrible home, or rather, this terrible home owns me.
“The nasty parts of things are important to keep in mind in order to better appreciate the beautiful.”
At least that is what I have been telling myself every time I pull up into this mass of trash pouring out of the front porch, like some sort of a monster just waiting to suck up the entire yard and planet. It’s a sort of a funny representation of the state of the earth and it’s mine now. A lot of mess, just junk. In heaps. I’ve been overwhelmed by things, this non stop accumulation of physical objects I just cannot keep up with.
This week, the trash will be gone. The roof will be fixed. This week welcomes a new level of decency to this raggedy piece of shit, my empire of dirt. This trailer that I cannot seem to figure out why I care so much about. I bought flowers, already giving more consideration to the environment of which this property lies that the property itself.
All the while working away every day. Getting older and more tired. My mind so busy, never able to sleep. Crying often, reading constantly, I feel unhealthy. Unbalanced. I don’t know how I became so stressed within the span of 8 months. So many things fell into my lap at the same time, life disregarding my comfort. Every decision feels like a tragic mistake lately, but at the very least its a decision and I was never good with those. I’m posting this is my first “before” in regards to the moon lake earth ship. I want to create a beautiful space with the help of my sister and her boyfriend and brother, TJ. I want to share this experience with you. It will probably take me a year, but this is hopefully going to be the most rewarding thing I ever do in my life. a butterfly garden, a fruit and vegetable garden, a beautiful home with bamboo floors and enough food to feed for a month. A chicken coop and a reading nook. A tree house and a koi pond and a spiral herb garden and butterfly visitors and bee visitors and art everywhere!
But in order to best appreciate that future dream, in 12 months, no matter what happens I need to relish in the fact that it looks like absolute shit right now. It’s elegant in a way, seeing the house I spent most of my early teenage years in complete shambles. A mountain of trash. This is poverty. Even the biggest pile of trash can be rebuilt, and I believe that.