I’m remembering the time when my husband and I first talked about living in a tiny house at the end of 2013. It was a baby step that would move us toward achieving longer-term, would-they-ever-happen goals — like living on a plot of land in the country, for instance. At the time, we were living in an industrial-style condo near downtown San Francisco, newly married and both working for companies headquartered right there in the city. Sounds comfy and convenient for two young professionals: why would there be a reason to leave?

But things change. Scenes of a different life are envisioned. Goals are set. And it’s so strange, but really really nice, to sit outside on my deck and look out at all of this:

Photo Jun 18, 11 16 29 AM

Photo Jun 20, 4 01 41 PM

I live here. I live here. I live here! Less than five years after those initial conversations on what ifs and what could be next, I’ve gotten to where I envisioned I could be. It doesn’t always feel that way — that I am moving along on an invisible string in the universe, that progress is being made — but when I take a moment to sit still and breathe and look around, I realize that things do happen in time.

Published by Cheri Lucas Rowlands

Senior editor at Longreads / Automattic

4 thoughts on “Goals

  1. How wonderful, Cheri, and how beautiful! May you and your husband continue to fulfill your dreams, and live the lives you previously could only imagine.

  2. While you hold it you can’t get lost.

    I love this line—thanks.

    I am not familiar with the poem you mention, and I’m not sure why I envisioned an “invisible string” at the time of writing the post, but it spoke to me at that moment. Similarly, a wave is a pattern I often imagine, with its crests and troughs. In the past, when I’ve been down, I’ve continued along that wave because I know I’ll rise again.

    Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

  3. Oh wow Cheri! Congratulations to you both. Your “I am moving along on an invisible string in the universe” reminds me of the poem by William Stafford that Don and I had read at our wedding, about the thread that pulls you through life.
    There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
    things that change. But it doesn’t change.
    People wonder about what you are pursuing.
    You have to explain about the thread.
    But it is hard for others to see.
    While you hold it you can’t get lost.
    Tragedies happen; people get hurt
    or die; and you suffer and get old.
    Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
    You don’t ever let go of the thread.

    Your place looks wonderful.

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