The Empty Restlessness

The thing I feel in my bones, the thing that feels most true, is that I will not be happy in any living situation until I dwell in a tiny house that I designed and built. And until I've parked it out in a city where I am both close to nature and culture, a place where I fit into a community, a place where my opinions and my voice and my experiences are heard and respected, until then, I feel in my bones an emptiness. I feel those pieces missing from my life. Which is why I am taking the first steps toward making it happen.

I've downsized quite a bit, and it feels a little more freeing to have less stuff. But that feeling only lasts for a short while until I remember all the REST of the stuff I still have. There is still way too much clutter and unused, unwanted items piled out of sight. I'm continuing to unveil more little corners in my life where I've shoved things away, forgotten about them, and now have to sort them out and make disappear. I'm looking forward to moving to my new temporary living fix with significantly fewer items, although I will continue the slow and steady downsizing process while there too.

I'm temporarily moving to my Dad's house (45 minutes north of San Francisco) so that I can live rent-free, save up some money while I commute to my job in the city, and if I play my cards right, build my tiny house in their driveway. I'd then move the house to where I might find my little dream community. Somewhere near a job that will either give me the most creative satisfaction I can ask for and/or where I do work with sense of purpose. Something that gives me the sense that by the end of the day, I'll feel like I did good. But in the meantime, when I'm not actively and literally making progress toward that goal, that emptiness is dragging on with only dreams forming above and a restlessness to get going. To get building.

Brooks Park, San Francisco