Well, hot damn. It really does work.

Ok, so.  Let's be real.
No thank you.  I do not want to be delicious.

I've never been one for that whole California hippie-dippie wanky notion of "visioning."  You know, like, create a Vision Board of things you want for your life and cover it with glitter and flower petals and pretty pictures cut out of magazines of people looking happy and sporty and well-medicated.

(Evidence at right.)

Not my style. Guess I was always a little too cynical. More of the mind to just get up off my ass and do something, make it happen, yo'.

So bear with me here.


My cynicism may have been shaken a bit.

The Mister and I have been looking for a long-term home for awhile. Owning a home in Marin County (the wealthiest in the country, oy) is a pipe dream, a millionaire's game, and at best, it's 2 or 3 years away for us.  But, in the present-tense, there are plenty of charming and mad-funky places around here that could serve us well until we can buy.  So, driving home from the Bhakti In Bloom retreat on a sunny Sunday afternoon in late April, high on the buzz of mountain air and rocking chairs and mineral hot springs, we started spouting our ideal notions for a home.

The descriptors flew fast and easy.

Words like: peaceful, private, sunny and light, 2 bedrooms, detached, parking for 2 (+ guests), a view, a garden, a nice deck, etc.

All of those kinds of things that I couldn't have even realistically dreamed of whilst living in the City.

[Parking?!  For 2?!  Plus guests?!  Gimme a break.  That's $1000/month right there in the 94109, just to ensure that your hood ornament doesn't get ripped off by hoodlums and your bumper doesn't suffer the to-be-expected serious 45-degree-angle-hill-parallel-parking damage.]


It's a slightly different world up here in earthier, farmier, more spacious West Marin.


We rambled down the list of every possible dream quality, and when we got home later that evening, the Mister sat down and filled three pages with these very descriptors.  He dated it 4/22/13 and tucked it on the little home altar next to Hanuman and the Buddha and their friends.

Three days later, he found a sweet light-green 1930s cottage about 10 minutes from where we now live, available for rent immediately.

We stopped and toured it the following Saturday.

It was adorable and I loved it, but it was several hundred dollars a month more than we wanted to spend.

So we said, "Thanks, all best to you," got back in the car, and moved on.

Two weeks later, out of the blue, the realtor emailed us.  "Are you still interested in the cottage?"

Why, yes, more than ever.

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about the gardenias and the Meyer lemon tree and that beyond-charming Alice In Wonderland-style dutch door out front.  You know, the half-door kind you can lean over and call the cows in through for dinner.  The kind you swing open and lean out of and sing "June Is Bustin' Out All Over," accompanied by little elves on lutes, while bluebirds twitter in circles around your head.

You get the picture.

But at the same time, I knew enough to not get attached.  That sometimes when something you really want doesn't "work out," it's all for good, because there's actually something waaaaaaaay better waiting around the corner.  This applies, of course, to relationships and jobs and cars and all of it. Homes, too.  So when this one was out of range, I figured it just wasn't our house.  All good.

So how beautiful was it when, two weeks later, the realtor circled around and offered it to us at $400/month less than she'd advertised it for?  Our initial (ideal) price?  The reward of patience.  And of trusting.  And of no urgency.

Long story short, the last week has meant hustling through the usual application process: credit reports and employment verification and references and all of that schtuff.  It has been an exercise in watching the mind, in not letting it run, in keeping the chatter of "What ifs" and "Maybes" at bay until things came through.

We put a deposit down on Monday, and as of this morning the check has been cashed.  Which means, I think, that I can finally exhale enough to say out loud that, baby: WE GOT IT!

The point of all this is: holy crap.  I guess I need to quit being such a cynical bitch about this visioning process.  Because here's what we put down on our list back in April and labeled as Vision of Home:

Sunny and light
2 bedrooms
Parking for 2 (+ guests)
Outdoor deck/porch
Yard (with flat portion for gardening)
View of the water
Hardwood floors
Gas stove
Modern; renovated recently.
Good, clean energy
Woodburning stove(s)
Propane heat
Hot tub
Located near current home
Private without being remote
Safe and well-secured
Yoga space
Writing/office/creative space
Closet space
Ample good storage
Greenhouse onsite
Lots of land

A long and quite specific list, I know.  I mean, really?  Who can expect a private detached yoga studio anywhere, kids?

Last Wednesday evening a few friends came over for dinner.  Over dessert, we were talking about the home and our vision for it.  We pulled out this list and walked through it one by one.  And, by god — we realized that this new home has EVERY SINGLE THING on the list except for one.

Decks, check.
Huge yard, check.
Yoga studio, check.
Hardwood floors, check.
Recently renovated, check.

And on and on.

(And what were the chances there'd really be a hot tub, I mean, yes?)

I'm still blown away every time I think about it.  The new home is above and beyond even our sweetest hopes.  It has a separate detached yoga studio & writing office.  It rests on almost two acres of its very own knoll, with a long private driveway.  It boasts 7 closets and a chicken coop (!!!) and a woodburning stove and even a heated bathroom floor with adorable brand-new 1920s-style fixtures.  It has not one, but TWO decks, one of which overlooks the Bay.  And French doors and charming entryways and you name it.

For $100/month LESS than I would be paying right now for my teeny-weeny little 1-bedroom flat at the back of an old Nob Hill building on California Street.  The one where I could hear the iPhone of my upstairs neighbors vibrating and would then look over to check my phone, thinking it was mine.

Oof.  For reals.

I'm a believer. Speak your goals. Write 'em down. Get real good and clear on what you want, and then, my friends, put 'em on paper. Place it on the altar, whether that's a figurative or literal space in your home. Light a candle. Make it real. And then watch it come. Whether it's a vision for a home or a job or a partner or your health or new habits or whatever you want it to be.

I for one won't be talking smack about those hippie-dippie vision boards anymore.

And apologies in advance if the blog is a bit more vacant in the next month.

We gots a cute little fairytale house to move into!


Cmdr. J.S. Myers said…
It works and becomes exponential when you have someone visualizing the same thing.
Rach said…
Absolutely. We had 5 or 6 folks holding the same vision alongside us. I feel woo-woo admitting that, but it clearly worked.
mudita said…
Aww I love this and my heart is bursting with mudita for you two! Mi amor and I did the same thing while riding home on BART together (hand in hand, googly boogly eyed), just two days ago, and I'm a total believer -- the space I'm in now, the partner I'm with, all of it came from really detailed, fearless (even a lil loco!) visioning. Sometimes I think it's magic and providence, but sometimes it's also knowing what you want, identifying it, and then not putting up with less. Being detached is helpful too, so you don't hurt nobody in the process, lol. The Cali is rubbing off all over on ya sis. ;)
Unknown said…
...looks like you will be planting sweat peas of your own! Congrats, you two... OXOXO
How exciting! Best wishes to you and your man in your new home. What a lovely new beginning it will be for you.

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