The terraced house we’re renting in Edinburgh is spacious, fully furnished, located two blocks from the beach, and – in most places – falling apart. Not in a serious we-don’t-have-running-water-or-heat kind of way (*touch wood*) but in a widespread “that floorboard is broken” or “the roof is sorta leaking” or “I wonder where that hole came from?” kind of way.
Our home in Austin is a 3-bedroom ~1500 sq ft single-story home – and that’s after the renovation we did a few years ago. The novelty of moving into a 5-bedroom house spread across three floors has been pretty exciting.
I can lie in bed and *not* hear my children screaming in the living room. I can work in the attic bedroom and be oblivious to our dog barking at the Amazon delivery person. Got eight visitors coming in the same six-week period? No problem, we have multiple guest rooms to accommodate them.
As with all things that are shiny and new, the sheen eventually wears off.
This past month has been harder than our first month here, which isn’t surprising. We knew there’d be a honeymoon phase — that the adrenaline rush of so many new experiences would carry us through the challenges that come with big life changes. But adrenaline eventually subsides; the monotony and frustrations of the daily grind creep back in.
I went back to work and things haven’t gone according to plan. I’m having a hard time finding balance and adapting to new job demands. We hit a snag with our childcare, which has forced some difficult juggling and pivoting. Edith was aggressive towards another dog so we’re back to re-training her. We’ve been blessed with many visitors this summer, but it has kept us extra busy. Add on a plethora of minor annoyances: a broken bathtub stopper, a bike seat that doesn’t fit quite right, a handyman who forgot to bring his screwdriver. The pressure mounts. We’re overwhelmed. Things fall apart.
It's moments like these when I try to remind myself of the big picture and practice gratitude. I’m employed. We’re healthy. We have a global community of friends and family who love and support us. None of that stuff is shiny and new – on the contrary, it’s the stuff that has endured through so many changes. It’s like a 200-hundred-year old building that has been well-lived in. Things fall apart and need fixing, but the bones are still good.
Isn’t that what matters?