The Dream vs. the Reality

Way back in July, I left you in the lurch about that four-season porch I was lusting after. This week and next, I’ll complete the saga.

Having decided I wanted a porch like I’d had in Minnesota, I had an agent from a reputable company look at my patio concrete slab with roof. I also contacted credit unions and banks about fixed-rate equity loans. I learned that the price, after rebates, would be $21,100. I could borrow that amount for 10 years for $226 a month. Those were the facts.

For several hours, I dwelt in Cloud Cuckoo Land, blithely imagining my life on that porch: the writing I’d do there; the cats sleeping there in winter with the wall heater warming their bellies and in summer with the AC cooling their tongues; the evenings reading by the lamp’s light; the peace of sitting and watching the fireflies light up the back yard. Ah. It warmed the cockles of my heart as the Irish say.

Then reality strode into the labyrinth of my mind.

It first came with a shadow of unease that I didn’t recognize until I’d had another cup of tea and gone down into that deep center of myself where I dwell in the Oneness of Peace, Contentment, and Love.

I began to think of coming up with $226 a month on my fixed income. Since leaving the convent fifty years ago, I’ve kept track of my spending. I know how much money I have and where it goes when I spend it. So I knew that a monthly payment of that amount would leave me with only about $25 for emergencies. In other words, I’d have no discretionary funds. I’d be strapped for money for the next 120 months.

Moreover, I’d spend the next ten years of my life worrying about emergencies and what I’d do if something untoward happened. I’d worry about being in debt when I died and my family having to pay off that debt. 

I’d worry about the utility bills going up and my health insurance and prescription premium rising (as they had ever since I retired some 17 years ago). Bottom line: I was going to spend the next ten years worrying about money.

Now none of us know how long we have to live, but as we age, we know the likelihood of death is probably more imminent. So was I going to spend the next 10 years—maybe the last 10 years of my life—worrying about money? Was the four-season porch worth all that worry?

I did then what I’ve done since 1992 when I first encountered the book The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. That is, I used my “Morning Pages” to help me reconcile my dream of a four-season porch with the reality of its cost. I needed to find the clarity that was welling up in the deep center of myself.

So the next morning, per usual, I wrote my three morning pages in longhand. This takes me about forty-five minutes, and I’ve been doing it for about twenty-five years. Those pages have helped me meet every vicissitude of my life.

Once again, they came to my aid. As I began to write about my feelings, my fears, my dreams, my worries—all those things that were bubbling up within me—I covered pages one and two. By the time I came to page three, I was ready and eager for insight and it came.

So next Sunday, I’ll share with you the final porch chapter. I hope it will content you as much as it contents me.

Peace.

The photo, from Wikipedia, is of an Asian Emerald Cuckoo.