A case of cold feet

It’s taking too long. Why haven’t we closed yet? Is this some sort of sign from the gods that I’m NOT supposed to be buying a farm? Or is it a test, that I have to PROVE that I really REALLY want to farm?

And what about my easy cushy life? I’m a flight attendant, for goodness sake. I jet around to vacation destinations, laying over in exotic cities like Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Tulsa … And I get a paycheck, and health insurance, and free flights, and a retirement pension.

I can take vacations whenever I want to, without worrying about who’s going to take care of the goats? The pigs? The dogs?  Who’s going to water the garden, or the chestnut saplings?

I’ve got a nice apartment and if there’s a problem, I can just complain to the landlord to fix it. Or I can move. Or I can do nothing, and just deal with it because ultimately, it’s still just an apartment. Nothing special, nothing disastrous.

The major problem in my life is that I WANT MORE…

There’s more to life than just going to work, coming home, doing it again the next day. I want a bigger challenge than biting my tongue and continuing to smile even if some passenger is a complete jerk.

Those goats? Who says I’m ever going to want to leave them? Who says tending goats isn’t the vacation of a lifetime?

And the apartment? It’s not mine. I dislike the carpeting, I find the kitchen too tiny. If it were mine I would. …  but alas, it’s not.

The farm? It will all be mine. Rain or shine, sunshine or clouds, I get to be a decision maker. I’m taking the reins of my life back into my own capable hands.

Now just breathe.


You were just saying? I'm listening...