A Sinking Tiny House

Last night I dreamt that ocean waves covered the field in front of my tiny house. I could see the farmhouse in the distance but between it and I were angry rolling waves.

Each one would come in bigger than the next and break against the windows on my porch. I would close my eyes and wait for shattering glass and water to consume me but it didn’t. Between the waves, I knew it was time to make a decision or the next impact would get me.

Would I stay in my house and ride out this misplaced ocean or attempt to make a swim to my parent’s house? I chose to make the swim. I grabbed Patty, my orange cat, in my arms and decided he too would have to brave the waters outside.

Just as motivation consumed me I stepped off my porch, Patty in hand, expecting to encounter choppy waters only to step onto completely dry ground. That was it. The ocean was gone and I dropped Patyy onto the grass.

These days it’s hard to make decisions. I feel like the weight of oceans lays on my every next step and if I make the wrong decision I will be consumed by angry rolling water. It’s not that I am making major decisions every day, but even the small ones feel big.

Do I continue to snooze my alarm or get up and go after the life I want?

Do I go to town to get coffee or do I allow not tackling my big project to define me?

And when indecisiveness consumes me, I make no decision and wait for the water to consume my house.

If I make no decision then I can’t make the wrong one. If I never try then I never fail.

Just like my dream, I suppose I will find solid ground under each of my decisions. I just have to make a choice. There is no pride in going down in a sinking tiny house, even if I am the captain.

If I awake to a field of waves tomorrow, I will step off my porch in the direction I have chosen. I will be ready to tackle the sea at my feet, and if I don’t find solid ground, Patty and I can always swim.