Falling in Love…
No, I am not writing about that again…well, except I am. I figured out this morning that scrolling through real estate websites, looking for “the place” gives me the exact same feeling that online dating did. Replete with opportunities, endless possibilities and a great amount of lost causes.
What became apparent to me almost immediately is that I am a seeker. I have been looking for that fucking farmhouse and that guy all my life. Repeatedly.
In fact, I want the homestead “love at first sight” story perhaps more than I want the other kind of “love at first sight” story.
I am a sucker for them. Again, still.
And I get all fucked up over them in a similar fashion. I just fucking adore a story where, at a time where it was not practical, or really even feasible, someone finds that diamond in the rough homestead and moves Heaven and earth to make it happen, and thereby, almost unwittingly begins a lifetime love affair with a house and land.
My heart is actually palpitating…
There is so much soul in old homes. Most especially ones where there is a lot of land surrounding that only serves to buttress the feeling of being some sort of land baron once upon a time. That it is you and the land against the world. Defending your homstead as if it were your life, because it actually is.
I also love a good love story that has the same almost death defying odds but that has gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years. Real estate has been far kinder to me.
So I scan the horizon and Zillow, and Red Fin and many other sites looking for that Utopia that I just know I will find, some day. And I will admit that the search is almost better than the find. Which dating has proved to me time and time again, is a better course. The searching is always better than the finding, at least so far.
So maybe there are some sort of parallels that are inversely proportional between dating and old farm houses. The more you seek, the more you find. But the harder you look and the more time you spend seeking, the less you really find. Because love and real estate, at least the kind I am talking about, only come about once in a lifetime, twice if you are unluckily lucky.
And I am not sure I will ever be that lucky in love or real estate, so for now, I amuse myself with lurid dreams of 1800s farmhouses on beautiful landscapes that house horses, and goats and chickens and dogs and people that I love. Even if that ultimately turns out to only be me.
