Change is easier dreamed than done

I have this long-held idea that I just might look amazing with a pixie cut. Never mind that when I was in sixth grade, I got my hair cut short and my classmates teased me mercilessly and called me Carol Brady. Somewhere in my mind, I still believe that if I just found the right haircut I could unlock my inner Charlize Theron.

This idea that happiness and fulfillment await me if I just take the right step is part of my ethos. Dreaming about what could be keeps me going.

The reality of taking a risk is invariably more complicated than my daydreams. I know I’d probably freak out if I ever made the leap and sheared off my locks. I’d quickly see the limitations of short hair and immediately begin to pine for long tresses.

Considering how averse I actually am to change, it’s funny that I keep pursuing the unknown when I know very well that it most likely will make me unhappy and uncomfortable, at least for a time.  

This past year, I’ve embarked on an unprecedented campaign of change. A year ago I never would have believed that in the next 12 months I would decide to go back to school, that my family would get a dog, and that we would put our house on the market. It’s no wonder I’m reeling.

After, say, Cooper poops on the kitchen floor, I like to lord over Mark that it was his idea to get a dog. When it comes to selling our house, however, I’m afraid the “blame” falls squarely on me.

I’ve received real estate updates from Trulia for three years now, longing to ditch our corner lot with its tiny backyard. I indulged in much dreaming about our next house, forwarding ones I liked to Mark, knowing full well that we could never act on any with our house nowhere near ready to show.      

Noting recently that our puppy’s kennel now takes up a sizeable portion of our bedroom, Mark and I began to more seriously consider moving. Mark sent me a link to a house one day: how about this one? “I’m in!” I replied flippantly.

Embarking on the process of looking for a new house was fun. As soon as we zeroed in on one that we actually loved, however, I began to have reservations. When we saw the house that soon will be ours, I recognized immediately that it was everything we ever wanted: more space, wooded lot with mature trees, quiet neighborhood. It was just a little farther from our current place than I would have liked, and I began to look for things to dislike about it.

After hearing the sad reaction of our neighbor, the mom of my oldest son’s best friend, I was ready to back out. Everything about our current house began to seem impossibly dear. Why not just wait another year or two?

It turns out you can only send your husband so many emails about interesting houses before he actually really wants to move. He was all in, and though I loved the house we’d chosen, I wasn’t sure I could live with the discomfort of change.

I set aside my reservations about ruining our sons’ lives, taking them away from all that’s familiar to them (mind you, the new house is just three miles from our current one). We made a contingency offer on the house we wanted and readied our house quickly and got it on the market, selling it five days later. It all happened dizzyingly quickly. There can be a strange sorrow that comes with having exactly what you’ve always wanted, and I am feeling it acutely.

Sometimes it seems like it would be easier to just stay put. Sitting idly by and daydreaming feels like a pretty safe choice. Doing that discounts some important details, however. None of the big decisions we’ve made in the past year have been reached flippantly.

I went back to school because I felt a hunger for more in my life. We got a dog because it was an experience we wanted to have the kids to have. We put our house on the market because it’s too small for three growing boys and a dog. We want to share some years in our “dream” house with the boys while they’re young.

When it’s time to bid farewell to our sweet, cozy ranch, I have no doubt I will shed many tears. Stay tuned, dear readers, for my lamentations on that. I’m reminded for the umpteenth time that joy and sorrow are hopelessly intertwined.

For now I will sit with my discomfort and uncertainty. It was time for this dream to come to fruition, so I will accept this change with excitement and trepidation. I’m sure new wishes will replace it in no time. I’m also going to table getting that haircut. I think I’ve had enough changes for now.