The Dolphin and I were in Fiji, paddling our kayak around the island where we were anchored. As we floated along on the shimmering blue water with thousands of bright fish swirling below and rounded the tip of the island, my girl noticed a small, crooked shack perched upon the headland. The Dolphin looked on it thoughtfully and stated what was an absolute truth to her, “Isn’t that house precarious!” Hearing those words, I exhaled, and with that breath a fear left me that had been locked away for many months. The Dolphin was not living in a state of agitation and apprehension after being wrenched from the life she knew, comfortable within the walls of our suburban home, stable and securely connected to the earth, never moving and the world around it remaining the same. Our life of transience and uncertainty on QuickStar had become her home and its galvanized steel link tether connecting us to a new piece of earth every few days was not a reason for concern. The certainty that home provides, I realised, does not come from solid, tangible foundations, but from the constancy of being with the people who love you and the certainty that you can depend on them. Home is not a place, it is people, and the Dolphin’s people were on QuickStar, so in there lies all the stability she needs.
This weekend we transfer ourselves from the gentle rock of QuickStar to the solidity of bricks and earth. People keep telling me how exciting that is and how relieved I must be about it, pointing out the comforts that await us. I can’t deny that an upright fridge and a push button flush toilet will have a positive impact upon my daily life, but beyond that and being reunited with our dog, I struggle to see the upside. Rather there is a heavy feeling of being encumbered with many things I have learned to live without and in doing so discovered they do not bring me happiness. My heart is still heavily rooted in our floating home, so I need to work out what it is about QuickStar that makes it a home that we love.
Tomorrow we start in the garage, where a year ago I packed away the contents of our house and a year later I have not missed a single item. The clutter of our possessions creates a confusion of priorities and hides what we truly need. The more things I have, the less time is mine, so I need to be brutal and eliminate the unnecessary, allowing the necessary to rise up. I am hopefully better equipped to do this than when the initial sorting took place, now that I am learning to not fear the absence of what I don’t have. Reducing the objects in our house will make space for more time with the people in it, time to create a home.
To maintain this, I need to stop wanting more. I admit, consumption has often been a short term analgesic to the stresses of the modern world. It is a quick fix and readily available antidote, but the effects usually wear off quickly and the aftertaste can be bitter. I’m sure the suitcases in the garage are full of clothes and other objects that were bought as band aids. So I need to focus on my real sources of happiness, follow that path and remember I can’t be happy if I’m always thinking about the next thing.
Perhaps that feeling holding me back from rushing into our land house, which is yet to earn the title of home again, is the self-doubt that I will be able to go on living with less. I am worried that in moments of weakness shelves will be stacked to the brim and cupboards overloaded. Knowing what I really need is a good place to start. I want to continue on this journey of life with just enough baggage so I can focus on what matters and let go of the rest. I am ready to fill our house with the time and space for people, to let the security of our presence and happiness turn it into a home.