I don’t know if it’s because I’m nine months pregnant and stir crazy.
Or if it’s just that time again.
For a new adventure.
After over two years in the valley outside of Quito and in our third house, my husband and I have been talking seriously about moving to the beach. We’re beach people at heart and having recently returned from a trip back to Los Angeles, where we posted up in Venice for two weeks just a few steps away from the sand. I can’t get the thought out of my head.
There’s something about the beach that strikes a truly therapeutic chord with me. The sound of waves gently lapping over the shore. Sunsets melting into the horizon. Long walks that lead to nowhere. When I’m near the water, there’s always something to do, even if it be nothing at all. And that’s what I love about it.
Because right now, I feel like we’ve given the city outskirts of Ecuador our best shot. And it still leaves me wanting. When we were traveling frequently it was no problem. Weekend getaways to the forests and mountains soothed the soul that braved the hum drum of suburban life during the week. School runs. Errands. All the regular day-to-day bullshit. But being less than mobile the last several months has taken its toll. And I think what my husband and I have both realized is…
Is that it’s gotten boring and predictable.
And that we’re suddenly living a life we never wanted.
In fact, one that we were trying to leave behind us.
A huge house with a lot of upkeep. Expensive schools. An ever growing schedule of activities and plans. It feels busy, but not productive.
I look around and start to feel trapped again.
Like we’ve accumulated too many things again and are less free.
And I yearn for simplicity.
One where I can ride my bike everywhere, feet caked with mud.
It’s that constant battle inside of me that waffles between being able to get up and go at the drop of a hat, and settling down. Wanting the best for my kids. But not being sure whether that means top notch everything or absolutely nothing at all but the world that surrounds us. And for now, I just can’t figure out which one we are. Because every step forward ends up teaching me more about myself and what I want for my family. In the successes and the failures. That even if I can afford to have it all – maybe it’s not what I want. And it keeps me striving to find that sweet spot that I know exists for us somewhere at some point in time. Enjoying the journey along the way, but also questioning these big moves and decisions from every angle.
Moving to the beach means uprooting everything we’ve built over the last two years. We’re finally comfortable. And maybe that’s why the itch has started to scratch again. The goals I had set out for myself are in full swing. Our home is complete right down to the decor that dots our walls. And we have a solid support system I couldn’t have ever imagined finding so far from home. Life is good and steady.
But does that mean we are ready for more?
With less than two weeks to my due date, my husband and I have put out some feelers to some friends and have tentatively scheduled a trip to visit the coast early next year. Once all the dust has settled from having the baby. It’s been a dream of ours to live at the beach since forever. One that we had been saving for our longer term goal of Portugal, that has been fast tracked to the present.
There are a million reasons to stay. To play it safe. To keep going down a path that feels familiar to my husband and I because we’ve lived it ourselves. And a million reasons to go. To give our children the opportunity to see things from a different perspective. One that we, ourselves, are just starting to understand. An unknown future for all of us that can truthfully, be a little intimidating at times. The perfectionist in me letting go of expectation and preconception every step of the way and trusting that even if I don’t know what will happen. Everything will be okay.