(I wrote this some weeks ago and haven't published it til today, so the content is "old news". My next post will be more current and bring things up to date).
The first time Nancy and I drove out to our house and land, after being in Santa Fe for a night I think it was, at Nina's, we both felt an onslaught of overwhelm. Maybe it was mixed with dread. I can't be certain now, some 6 weeks later, but I think that would be accurate. This was the culture shock we thought we'd experience right away in New York, and didn't. We'd come from an easy re-entry there for 10 days, and then six weeks in Florida at MaryAnn's. Our re-entry to New Mexico was a delayed late night arrival at the Albuquerque Sunport, a missed shuttle to Santa Fe, and a night on the floor of the arriving passenger greeting lounge. If we were paying closer attention we might have immediately noticed the rough landing, and what it might portend. From this vantage point now, I'd say it was an omen, or a foreshadowing, or a simple sign of things to come.
We hit the ground running as they say, and it's only a few days now since our relentless efforts to reduce our earthly possessions by half, and sell or donate whatever we had to in order to achieve this, culminated in the grand one day garage sale at 1814 Otowi. It was a commercial success. We sold - or more accurately for the most part, virtually gave away - a ton of stuff, and took what was left to two donation centers. Done. Rented storage in Santa Fe eliminated. What's left will stay in the shed on the land, awaiting........................what? Another culling in a year and a half when we're thinking we'll be back in New Mexico? Who knows, but for now it will be packed up and stored away: items we think we'll need one day; things we can't bare to let go of (what would those be, I ask myself honestly?); tools, which, I say, as long as we own this house I have to keep (I eagerly look forward to not needing to keep them); junk? No. Not much junk, I think. We got rid of that. Still, what we have will likely fill our shed, or, maybe it won't, quite.
Physically yes, but more so emotionally, I'm experiencing an exhaustion, and a sense of vulnerability and anxiety. I can't put my finger on it. In the midst of all the culling, I've been actively advertising for and screening would be renters. With literally one exception, they have all, and there have been many, been inappropriate. Unrealistic about living off grid; the wrong timing or the wrong price point; looney tunes; not equipped emotionally for the realities of Cerro Chato; the wrong vehicle for our location; one thing after another. The one fellow who came out and spent some time with us, and loved the place, and would have been a great tenant and would have rented it, got a last minute and unexpected job offer from the State of Oregon, and will move there instead.
A couple of nights ago I reached my limit and decided to let go of the whole thing - that is, let go of my personal involvement with the whole thing - and turn it over to our realtor/property manager to deal with. In other words, to let him do the job we pay him to do. I sent him an email to this effect and felt relief. Next morning though I back tracked and wrote one more email, the possible last in a series of emails back and forth between me and a woman in northwest Scotland, an American, familiar with this neighborhood and actively interested in being here. I told her that I was turning it all over to my property manager, but that if she wanted to close the deal we had been exploring for a while, in which she would pay a year's rent up front, sight unseen, we could do that. She wrote back within ten minutes and said 'let's do this'. Ever since then I've been feeling anxious. Why? Is there something wrong with this deal that I'm picking up on intuitively? It's even possible that she and her husband might want to buy the house after the year. Scott, the manager, says he'd take this deal in a New York minute. I'm asking for protection against any bad juju , waiting for the transfer of money from the UK to her friend in Santa Fe and then to us, turning the outcome over to God.
I don't want to be here. Not in New Mexico, not on this land, not in our house. I'm grieving. I want to be where it's soft, and green, and gentle, and moist. This place has never been my heart place, and now, in the midst of all the upheaval and change and letting go, the pain of this truth is becoming more difficult to bare. I know it's only a little while before we can leave. And now Terra will be here in three days, and her life is in upheaval as well. Right at the moment it's all feeling like too much.
The first time Nancy and I drove out to our house and land, after being in Santa Fe for a night I think it was, at Nina's, we both felt an onslaught of overwhelm. Maybe it was mixed with dread. I can't be certain now, some 6 weeks later, but I think that would be accurate. This was the culture shock we thought we'd experience right away in New York, and didn't. We'd come from an easy re-entry there for 10 days, and then six weeks in Florida at MaryAnn's. Our re-entry to New Mexico was a delayed late night arrival at the Albuquerque Sunport, a missed shuttle to Santa Fe, and a night on the floor of the arriving passenger greeting lounge. If we were paying closer attention we might have immediately noticed the rough landing, and what it might portend. From this vantage point now, I'd say it was an omen, or a foreshadowing, or a simple sign of things to come.
We hit the ground running as they say, and it's only a few days now since our relentless efforts to reduce our earthly possessions by half, and sell or donate whatever we had to in order to achieve this, culminated in the grand one day garage sale at 1814 Otowi. It was a commercial success. We sold - or more accurately for the most part, virtually gave away - a ton of stuff, and took what was left to two donation centers. Done. Rented storage in Santa Fe eliminated. What's left will stay in the shed on the land, awaiting........................what? Another culling in a year and a half when we're thinking we'll be back in New Mexico? Who knows, but for now it will be packed up and stored away: items we think we'll need one day; things we can't bare to let go of (what would those be, I ask myself honestly?); tools, which, I say, as long as we own this house I have to keep (I eagerly look forward to not needing to keep them); junk? No. Not much junk, I think. We got rid of that. Still, what we have will likely fill our shed, or, maybe it won't, quite.
Physically yes, but more so emotionally, I'm experiencing an exhaustion, and a sense of vulnerability and anxiety. I can't put my finger on it. In the midst of all the culling, I've been actively advertising for and screening would be renters. With literally one exception, they have all, and there have been many, been inappropriate. Unrealistic about living off grid; the wrong timing or the wrong price point; looney tunes; not equipped emotionally for the realities of Cerro Chato; the wrong vehicle for our location; one thing after another. The one fellow who came out and spent some time with us, and loved the place, and would have been a great tenant and would have rented it, got a last minute and unexpected job offer from the State of Oregon, and will move there instead.
A couple of nights ago I reached my limit and decided to let go of the whole thing - that is, let go of my personal involvement with the whole thing - and turn it over to our realtor/property manager to deal with. In other words, to let him do the job we pay him to do. I sent him an email to this effect and felt relief. Next morning though I back tracked and wrote one more email, the possible last in a series of emails back and forth between me and a woman in northwest Scotland, an American, familiar with this neighborhood and actively interested in being here. I told her that I was turning it all over to my property manager, but that if she wanted to close the deal we had been exploring for a while, in which she would pay a year's rent up front, sight unseen, we could do that. She wrote back within ten minutes and said 'let's do this'. Ever since then I've been feeling anxious. Why? Is there something wrong with this deal that I'm picking up on intuitively? It's even possible that she and her husband might want to buy the house after the year. Scott, the manager, says he'd take this deal in a New York minute. I'm asking for protection against any bad juju , waiting for the transfer of money from the UK to her friend in Santa Fe and then to us, turning the outcome over to God.
I don't want to be here. Not in New Mexico, not on this land, not in our house. I'm grieving. I want to be where it's soft, and green, and gentle, and moist. This place has never been my heart place, and now, in the midst of all the upheaval and change and letting go, the pain of this truth is becoming more difficult to bare. I know it's only a little while before we can leave. And now Terra will be here in three days, and her life is in upheaval as well. Right at the moment it's all feeling like too much.
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