A few blocks from my apartment there is a golf course. Surrounding this golf course are houses, big, incredibly expensive houses. They all have huge back porches looking out into the golf course, beautiful stonework, and lawns littered with all the essentials: high-tech grills, above-ground swimming pools, trampolines; the whole shebang. Since the traffic is slow and the roads are smooth, I enjoy going to to run or longboard. Every time I travel the 2 mile trek with friends or family, they can’t help but marvel at the impeccable homes. I agree, the first time my eyes fell upon them I was in awe. It is not often you find homes like those in the area I live. Time after time, running those roads forward and backward, my opinions began to differ greatly from my friend’s:
“I’d kill for a house like that!”
“Imagine the money you need to live here!”
“They’re so lucky! I hope I can afford all that one day!”
To start, I’m the girl that compares all prices to plane tickets. So of course, as they gossiped about the chandelier glowing brightly from the french doors of a cottage style, multi-story home, I couldn’t help but think: I could’ve traveled to every country in the world for the price of that house.
Not to mention it’s designer furnishings I’m sure fill the rooms.
Sure, a huge house with all the fixings sounds like a great and admirable life, but to me, it’s just not dream life I’d choose if I could.
Much like that one saying, “I’d rather own little of the world and see a lot, then own a lot of the world and see little of it.”
For some reason, I’m enthralled by the idea of living with less; nothing but the clothes on your back (well, maybe a bit more). Imagine what you could do and where you could go without anything holding you down. No rent to pay. No car insurance. No utility payments. No $100 trips to the grocery store. Nothing but whatever you can carry, belonging to no city. Just the sunset to your back and a new destination in front of you.
That’s Making A Living.
“A Living” should be the act of doing so, not associated with a paycheck. Since when is living considered a job? It should be a simply breath; pure bliss. “Living” should not be the act of making money to afford the huge house with the designer furnishings or to pay the bills. “Living” should be the act of making your dreams come true. The act of turning them into reality. The act of creating a life you can be at peace with when it has come to an end. A life you’ve lived to it’s highest potential.
I will never be satisfied with a mansion or designer couches, nor will I be satisfied with the same view from the same window day after day. As I pass these houses day after day, they never move, never change. They never get to see the way the sun shines on them anywhere else but where they were built. They are stationary.
I am not.
I am wherever I want to be.
And I want to make a life,
not a living.