Grinding to a Halt

The title of this post says it all. Everything to do with the build has stopped, and I’m not sure if it will ever get started again. I’m feeling very dispirited about this project right now. Here is a list of my current whinges:

  • Tradies: I’ve had a nightmare run with tradies (just fired the guys doing the shed install because of unbelievably sloppy work and unprofessional behaviour).
  • Finance: The money situation is really tricky, because banks don’t like owner builders and will only lend 60% of the total amount, meaning I am still short of finance for the build.
  •  Loneliness: I feel lonely, living by myself on 50 acres with only a budgie and a cat for company.
  • Work: The administration job that is funding the whole project bores me to tears and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep forcing myself to do it.

Building this house was such a huge dream of mine, I’ve been working towards it for the last five years and have made such huge sacrifices in other areas of my life to make this happen. And right now I feel like my dream is raining down around my ears and falling in a shattered heap.

I apologise, Dear Reader. You’ve probably stumbled across this post looking for a cheery, upbeat tale of how fantastic it is to live in the country and build and live sustainably, a kind of Australian ‘Year in Provence’ or ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’. Ah, if only it were so. Sadly, the last six months have been a bit of disaster and I’m now re-thinking the whole idea. Some ‘escape’ thoughts:

  • I could choose not to build the house. I could sell the block and go and buy a house that is already built and save myself a huge amount of hassle.
  • I could quit my job and travel the world. Go to New York and study acting at the Lee Strasberg School and dance at the Broadway Dance Centre and hang out in jazz bars in Brooklyn. Check out my Hungarian roots in Eastern Europe. Hang out with other tall people in Amsterdam.
  • I could keep the block but not build the house and instead live in the cottage permanently (all 24m2 of it). I could then relax financially, quit my job and write books about environmental and social issues like I want to.

Here’s the thing: life is short. I could die in a car accident driving home from work today. I could have a non-curable cancer and not know it and only have a few months to live. I keep thinking of that quote by Thoreau:

‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them’.

I don’t want to die with my song still inside me. I want to really live, and have adventures, and contribute, and my god I want to sing the song of myself to the world with all the beauty, love and truth that I know I have inside me. I suspect we all do.

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