Friday Freestyle - 007
A very, very, very fine house, eavesdropping for three and a half hours, and Excelsior, true believers!
Hello, everyone.
My wife and I had been searching for a home to buy for several years. We were comfortable enough in the apartment we were renting, but writing a check for rent every month felt a little like flushing cash down the toilet. The square footage was also lacking, and being a family that loves hosting people in our home, things had a tendency to get a little cramped. However, if you’ve paid any attention to the housing market over the past few years, you know that, depending on the area, home prices have ranged from expensive to outrageous. Here in southeast Tennessee, we've seen an influx of out-of-state buyers, many of whom have been making cash offers well above the asking price—sight unseen. As you can imagine, competing in a market like that has been nearly impossible.
A few months ago, we found a home for sale in a neighborhood we had always liked but assumed was out of our price range. Still, we decided to take a shot and put in an offer we could afford—significantly lower than the asking price. Imagine our surprise when, less than an hour later, they accepted! The catch? The house badly needed some renovations and maintenance before we could move in. We prayed and thought and talked about it all, and we finally decided to go for it. We closed on February 6.
That very night, and for the next month, we spent almost every evening after work, every weekend, and several PTO days pulling up old flooring, painting walls, installing new flooring, replacing light fixtures, refinishing cabinets, and hiring contractors for major repairs. We had work done on the roof, trees removed, and plumbing, mold, and HVAC issues addressed. Then, on top of all that, we had to pack and move everything we owned. (I cannot believe how much we accumulated in that apartment—I’m sure many of you can relate.) By the last day of February, we were officially moved out of our old place, surrounded by stacks of boxes and plastic bins in every room of the new house, but finally able to take a breath.
Or so we thought.
Two days after the move, our entire family succumbed to a respiratory virus—undoubtedly exacerbated by exhaustion and exposure to the dust of a house that had been unoccupied for over a year. The girls (my wife and daughter) are still recovering.
I realize that the Lord has blessed us with this house. And I know that, before long, I will feel that deep sense of gratitude that comes with recognizing how much of a blessing this has been. But there is a part of me that wishes it had never happened.
Before we got sucked into the house-buying vortex, I felt like I was in a creative groove. I was enjoying writing poetry and essays, reading fiction, prose, and poetry, and engaging in meaningful conversations online about the creative life. But the stress and burnout—and I do not use that word lightly—have left me completely devoid of any desire to read or write. I haven’t been able to read for more than a few minutes at a time, and even when I do, the words often go in one ear and out the other. But the real sign of burnout? I simply don’t care. I don’t care if I ever write another line, read another online post, or pick up another book.
Cognitively, I know I’ll recover—mostly because I’ve been in this place before and have come back from the desolation. Emotionally? I couldn’t care less if I ever do. Right now, I feel like a creative vegetable.
I've heard people say that if writing is truly a vocation, you do it whether you feel like it or not. I have never been that person. Everything I’ve written that I actually enjoy reading later has been fueled by joy, curiosity, anxiety, grief, or malaise. The more emotion present in the writing, the more I enjoy reading it afterward.
So, here I am. I’ve archived months worth of posts from my Substack subscriptions—all without actually reading a thing. No offense to any of you whose newsletters I subscribe to, but I just don’t care right now. I pray that will change before too much longer.
But, as I said—here I am.
You may have missed…
Happy Is the One
How happy is the one who does not walk in the advice of the wicked or stand in the pathway with sinners or sit in the company of mockers! Instead, his delight is in the Lord’s instruction, and he meditates on it day and night. He is like a tree planted by flowing streams that bears its fruit in its season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers.
I’m reading, watching, listening to…
Old issues of The Amazing Spider-Man.
The Lord be with you all.
Well done putting out a post in the midst of all that life! Yep, you’ll recover.