Getting On With It — Week Twelve
Reflections on What Didn’t Come to Be
My journey to buying a townhome. Below are links to previous stories.
Week Nineteen of 52-Week Writing Challenge.
The first time I came to you was in 2009. A small, artsy town about two hours from home. My daughter and grandchildren had moved far, far away. My heart was shattered. The pieces were lost, couldn’t find their way back to each other, couldn’t reconnect and become whole. For some mysterious reason, I thought you could heal me.
It was June and Florida-hot. We arrived in one of those sudden and intense rainstorms that occur when humidity and heat compete for the highest numbers. Unacquainted with the area, I wasn’t sure where our rented cottage was and the rain added to my confusion.
We stopped at a small pizza cafe, newly opened and empty in the middle of the afternoon on a too-wet day. We sat by the window and watched rain cascading off the roof unto the tiled walkway as we ate tasty and comforting food. The owner and her son visited with us. We exchanged stories. They told about another restaurant on a different street that they recently closed to open the pizza parlor. I shared that I came to you to heal my broken heart.
We stayed five days, walking your quaint, shady streets, visiting shops, and admiring historical homes. We dined at your excellent restaurants, listened to music at a tiki bar overlooking the lake, made friends with shop owners and restaurant managers. Summer is your slow season, and in the middle of a deep recession, it was slower than usual. Business owners worried they wouldn’t survive the downturn; a few shops were already shuttered. You, too, were suffering from a broken heart.
In the choking afternoon heat we cocooned ourselves in the cottage. I wrote for hours — mindless, free-association writing. Searching for the healing words that were slow to come. I left unhealed — but not as broken as before.
Eight months later, we came back for an art show. Returning to you felt like coming home. Our trips south became regular events. You were our getaway spot. The place to go when life was too hectic or too tiring or too disappointing. Usually just two, maybe three, days. Never long enough but all we could spare.
We discovered your parks and took nature tour boat rides. We came to admire your glorious Christmas lights and see the annual holiday street and boat parades. We attended plays and musicals. We made more friends. More shops and restaurants closed. Those still open were barely surviving. Then the recession faded. New shops and restaurants opened. Many cars lined your streets, numerous people strolled your sidewalks. You were healing and so was I.
We became regulars. Your business people greeted us by name when we walked through their doors. We chose to dine at off hours, so the restaurant owners, managers, and servers had time to sit and chat. We felt like we belonged here.
After three years of visits, after my daughter and grandchildren returned from far, far away to live with us, and during a Christmas stay, when we were leaving the lake park just past sunset, I stood in awe of the fading magenta hues over the water when I was struck — no, that is too harsh of a word and there was no feeling of physical contact — more like, I heard a whisper, an insistent and clear whisper that said, “Your home is here.”
I don’t usually, maybe never, hear voices. Hearing voices is scary. I was flabbergasted. Even asked my husband if he heard anything. The voice was clear. I belonged here. But, finances were tight — I was providing support for my daughter and grandchildren, I had a business two hours away. How could I make a home here?
At the time, I was in a group that studied the Law of Attraction. Could that help me? Could I manifest a home here through the Law of Attraction?
I met with LoA teachers, I talked to members of my group, I was excited — I can do this, I can manifest a home in my favorite town using the Law of Attraction! The Universe clearly spoke to me. The Universe wants me there. I belong there. LoA and I can do this!!
For thirty months, I blogged about my manifestation adventure. Vision boards were created. Vibrations were high. I was enthusiastic. I had no idea how the manifestation would unfold but I knew it would. After all, the Universe spoke to me — whispered clearly in my ear. I blogged to inspire others to study the LoA and use it to manifest their dreams.
For thirty months my health declined — nothing specific, no diagnosed disease, just one illness after another after another, each leaving me weaker than the last. My doctor was stumped. He tried without success to fortified my immune system. I tried alternative healthcare — acupuncture, herbs, essential oils, Reiki. Nothing worked.
Three of my LoA teachers were attacked by almost-always-lethal diseases. They were between the ages of 35 and 55. The illnesses were diseases of the elderly, not the young or middle-aged. Only one survived and years passed before she was healthy again.
I was suffering with yet another illness when I realized that somehow, some way, my manifestation project was the cause of my various sicknesses. I could not reason that LoA was the root of my illnesses but was suspicious after the fates of the three LoA instructors. Or, maybe, and perhaps more likely, I was harboring some deep disappointment that was eating away at my immune system, leaving me vulnerable to every virus and infection that wafted by. Or, perhaps, guilt was the culprit. Who was I to manifest a home in another town when millions were unemployed, homeless, hungry? I wrote a final good-bye blog, tore up my vision boards, gave up on my dream.
A year later, another revelation came to me. Perhaps I was not actively enough involved in the process, not trying to find answers for myself. On future visits to you, I spoke to business owners in town and told them about my desire to move here and about the business I would need to relocate. They encouraged me, gave me contacts, gave me hope. I followed one lead after another — still nothing happened. I gave up again — for the last time.
So, here I am visiting you, needing respite from my moving preparations. Not my move here. A move in my current city. I am grateful for my soon-to-be new home but still wonder why it is not here. I walk your streets and remember when I thought the Universe wanted me here.
I walk past Kevin’s home that I thought would be ours. He and his wife bought it as a fixer-upper when they were living in Michigan. They made many vacation trips south to get it ready for their retirement. His wife didn’t make it. Breast cancer stole her retirement years. He moved here alone and lonely, adopting a rescue dog to ease his emptiness. My husband and I met him one day while walking our dogs. He gave me a tour of his house. I loved it. He tried to stay in his dream home but memories of his wife haunted the not-quite-completed rooms. He had no interest or energy to finish what they started together. He and his dog moved to a rental across the street and he sold his dream home. Not to me. I figured that was not the house the Universe wanted for us.
I walk past the green house near the lake that has a small cottage in the back. If Kevin’s house was not meant to be mine, surely this was the one, I once thought. My daughter and grandchildren could have the cottage; my husband and I, the main house. I often stood across the street imagining us living there. I could see us there, I could feel us there. On one visit, there was a For Sale sign. Yes! Somehow the Universe would find a way to make this house our reality. One visit later, the house was sold, and not to us.
Then, there was the historic cottage and the two-story home with the big porch. I walk by each of them now remembering how I was sure each one, like each of the others, was the home for us. But, like each of the others, they weren’t.
I did not get discouraged. Oh, no, I was sure you were my destiny. I was meant to be here. Just give the Universe time.
I wondered if I was being greedy. Houses in the historical district are priced way above market. Perhaps a house outside the downtown was meant for us. I saw a modest but lovely three bedroom house on a beautiful lot in a more affordable area. Close enough to the historic downtown for us — we like to walk. Maybe this was the one. It wasn’t.
None of them were.
After stopping the manifesting process that manifested nothing but illness, I got well and the illnesses stopped. But each time I visited you, I felt disappointment and confusion. We came less often because it hurt me to be here.
But, as it is known to do, time healed the feelings of defeat and disappointment. Eventually, I could visit you without sadness. Our visits became frequent again.
But, still I wonder. I wonder why and why not.
Someone said that the Universe and I were not on the same path and that is why I am not living here. It certainly felt like we were on the same path, the same wave-length. And if not, what does that have to do with it? If the Universe can plant a desire and take it away, what is the point of believing at all? If I can only manifest what the Universe wants me to have in the first place, isn’t that the same as predestination? Isn’t that the same as the Christians who say God answered your prayer but the answer was no?
I don’t know. I have no answers. I don’t have questions anymore either. Days are one foot in front of the other.
I know I am happy visiting you. Two days are better than none. Maybe I was never meant to be here. Perhaps it was a huge misunderstanding between the Universe and me. Maybe the whisper I heard so clearly on that Christmas visit was not the Universe at all but only the wind drifting over the lake and tickling my eardrum. Perhaps the Universe or God or whatever power exists is really not that interested in where I live.
I am happy with the townhome that will be mine in two weeks — in fact, I am thrilled with it. I am excited to move there. I am grateful, extremely grateful, for my new home. It was not my dream home because I stopped dreaming of homes or moves or, really, anything. I was simply living and working and putting one foot in front of the other. It just happened. I’ve written about the synchronicity of events that surrounded my home purchase, and it has been pointed out to me that synchronicity is a major part of LoA. I don’t see LoA in action here though. I wasn’t manifesting anything — it just happened. Fate, maybe. Law of Attraction, I doubt it.
I have no answers.
I don’t know why my new home is not here. Over time, I’ve come to no longer feel like this is where I belong. But, I will continue to return to you for respite from the days when I grow weary of putting one foot in front of the other, and I will remember the days when I dreamed of living here.
Many dreams are not meant to become realities. And, many realities are not birthed by dreams. Some things just are.
Previous stories:
