Over the past week or so I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about our space, or lack thereof. Then one of my Facebook friends posted a picture of an outdoor bar that she and her husband had built in their backyard. It looked really nice. It had a built in mini-fridge, big screen TV, restaurant quality heat lamps, and a bunch of patio furniture. It was easy to see that, in the background, there was also a large grassy area.
I noticed on my PhotoCircle app (where me, my sister, and my friend, Terra, share pictures of our kids) that both my sister and Terra have massive backyards. Terra has a fire pit, a pool and hot tub, a jungle gym for her kid, and a german shephard. My sister has a detached garage for her husband to work on projects (in addition to their attached garage), and she also has space for countless toys for her son—one of those little electric cars for toddlers to drive, a mini inflatable pool, a plastic bench, and, of course, a jungle gym and a dog. I see my friends on Prosebox and their big houses and wide open spaces…
Everywhere I fucking look, people have this. Some of these people are legitimately rich, yes. But some of these people are not rich. They’re just not living in Southern California. Their four bedroom homes with big back yard and two car garage in a nice neighborhood are worth the SAME AMOUNT as my tiny ass two bedroom condo with tiny, polluted balcony, and shared garage-into-the-alley full of homeless people and garbage.
I’m so. over. it.
I went to the Facebook page of the woman who had posted the pictures of her new outdoor bar and looked at where she lived: Phoenix, Arizona. And then I went to Zillow and typed in houses for sale, 3+ bedrooms, $350,000 or less, and guess what came up? Over a thousand homes with beautiful pictures of everything I’ve been talking about—big backyards, garages, and nice, walkable, neighborhoods.
What the fuck are we doing here?
And this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. I’ve searched for homes on Zillow in other parts of the country countless times for YEARS. This isn’t a whim. This is a fucking obsession. This is a real, true desire I have to get out of here.
I mentioned it to my husband and it took all of one minute to get him on board. I think we just have to really scrape together some bravery and some organization to make it happen. We agreed to start the conversation with his parents on Tuesday, his dad’s birthday. His parents have engaged in the conversation before. As a matter of fact, they’ve started the conversation before. We really want them to come with us, wherever we go. We want to go as a family. We know they won’t go as long as my daughter’s great grandma is alive. So that is a variable that is complicated to account for.
Another variable is my license. I have mentioned before that I rearranged my schedule so that I could have four hours blocked out for making treatment plans for my clients. For the past couple of weeks, that has been working. I am able to get about three treatment plans written in that time. With 25 clients on my caseload, it’s going to take me about two months to get them all written. Once that happens, I’m going to use that time to begin studying for my licensing exam. There is no reason to believe I won’t be licensed by next summer. And that’s when we need to do it. That’s when we need to make our move.
Until next time <3
Last updated June 26, 2020