The Audacity Of Wanting More

I took a vacation this week and rented a cottage on Lake Michigan. It’s a little scary, to take time off from work, to pay for a cottage, but it felt important. I needed the time off. (We all need time off.)

A year ago, I had stayed at the same cottage and I had a weird sense of “Holy cow. A lot can happen in a year. Your whole life can change.” My whole life did change. Not a little change either, a complete and utter transformation.

Last year, I stumbled into the cottage exhausted and stressed out. Bone weary. We were still in lockdown from the pandemic, and that was a universe of stress on its own. But beyond that, I had the kind of stress that had been pumping steadily through me for years. And I had the additional fear and stress from just separating from my then-husband. We’d acknowledged that though we’d tried as hard as possible, our relationship wasn’t fixable. We put the house up for sale, and we’d start showing it the day after I arrived at my retreat. 

When I remember that stress, and all the unknowns of that week, it’s staggering. I’d found a dream home, but if we didn’t sell our house in four days, and if we didn’t sell it for a certain amount (that was way beyond what we paid for it), I’d lose everything. I didn’t know for sure where I’d end up living, how my kids would cope, would I have enough work to give us a good life, and I was terrified.

I was also ashamed.

Ashamed at my audacity for not only wanting more from life, but for trying to get it. Who was I to want more? I had a nice house, was married to a nice man, why couldn’t I just shut up and be happy?

 I don’t know where that thought came from. Society maybe, the culture we live in. Or maybe just from my own battered spirit that through experience had learned to only want tiny things. Small things. Not important things. If I wanted anything more than that, I was sure to be disappointed. 

There was also the inner thought that if in my marriage…if I just didn’t acknowledge what was wrong, if I just ‘put on a happy face’, then things would be fine. If you don’t acknowledge the monster in the room that’s sitting there drooling and dripping and heaving, then there’s no monster, just a weird problem with the airflow in the house. Just open some windows.

 It was my fault that things had gone so wrong, because I’d acknowledged the monster. Shame on me.

 Fuck that. That’s crazy making. You should be able to talk about the monsters, to talk about the things that are wrong before they become monsters. What I did wasn’t shameful.

What I did was brave. 

I dared to want more from my life.

 I thought life would knock me down; punish me for wanting.

 A year later, I walked into the same cottage. I needed to relax a bit from a strenuous year of work and change, but I wasn’t wounded like I was before. This was a normal fatigue. And I walked in with a different life entirely. We had sold our house in the four days for the price we needed, and I was able to buy my dream home. I’ve had steady work this year that’s provided safety for me and my kids. I’ve been able to tackle things on my own and have gained strength from my loved ones.

This year, at the cottage, my closest girlfriends spent a day with me where we shopped and drank and ate and laughed. We talked while the sun set before us and the world grew dark around us. I had a few days of intense writing to myself where I could feed that part of my soul without work interruptions. And then J (the man I’m seeing) came to spend time with me. My ex wasn’t a fan of cottages and I had to fight to get him to join me. He didn’t want to. So to have this wonderful man come and spend time with me willingly, was like some kind of waking dream. A reminder that it is possible to meet people who share your interests, who want to spend time with you, who enjoy the slight musty smell of a small cottage, and the magic of how a place by the water, in the woods, in the calm, can bring two people closer.  

I walked. I painted. I had time to think. The weather turned crummy, and I holed up inside away from the bugs and the humidity, and I felt a wave of gratitude, looking at the change that is possible over a single year.

 There has been such heartbreak this year. For me, but probably for others. I lost friends, and boundaries I set with family members meant I lost some of them too. There were concerns about money, and issues with the house that were expensive and scary. There were times I thought I couldn’t do it. Times I felt stupid for trying. I have risked things in business and had some failures, but also success. I wrote a screenplay and a novel and poems, because that part of myself that was always in a state of flight, is finally in a state of peace, and I can tap into all the words and feelings I’d been cut off from. 

 I guess my biggest realization this week is that it’s not audacious to hope. It’s beautiful. When you envision change, when you want it, it’s for a good reason. It’s valid. 

I’m so glad I was loud enough and bold enough to demand something different.

I have a new life that is richer, bigger, and more fulfilling than I allowed myself to hope for. It’s not always great. There are still struggles and worries about money and the future and all those What If’s. But now I can handle those things from a space of safety that I created by the simple act of wanting (and believing) I could have more. 

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TANYA EBY is a narrator and writer. If you like her blog, please share it with friends.