How to stick the landing
I recently lost the ground under my feet. Literally.
The house I rented for eight years was no longer available to me, and didn’t see it coming. With just a month to find a new place in a hot rental market, time was bound to go fast.
For the first week, I was airborne—like a trapeze artist between the let go and the grab. Should I put my stuff in storage and kick around in my van? Leave Denver and find a beach house? Or do what normal people do and find another rental. Somewhere close by.
Friends said I had to manifest what I wanted or I would never find it. And it would never find me.
As woo woo as that sounds, they weren’t wrong. So I told the universe what I wanted. A place to feel safe and creative. A fenced-in yard for the dog. Shade trees and nice neighbors. An upgrade from the shabby shack I knew and loved. Even if I had to pay more.
Now that I’ve stuck the landing—an adorable mid-mod house at the intersection of Dover (my last address) and Brooks (my last name), where a dog named Ruby (my last dog) last lived, and the owner’s last name is Beach—I’m trying to make sense of it all.
In gymnastics, to stick the landing means to land firmly and cleanly on one's feet after completing a flip, layout, or other such acrobatic move. For us mere mortals, it means to complete a process in an impressive and conclusive manner.
Haven’t we all had a vision and then backed off? Come tragically close to finding what we want, and then frozen in place?
Why do we do that? And how can we land squarely the next time we’re lost in space?
See it. Thinking in general terms—about earning more money, or feeling more connected, or wanting the dog to behave—is fine for awhile. But the goal-setting experts say we need to be specific. So I made my list. I could live without a slider from my bedroom to a deck, but other things were non-negotiable. Our only hope of getting what we need is seeing it—and saying it—out loud.
Focus (but be open). Shiny things might waste our precious time, but they also can lead us to unexpected places. A house with a sauna (a sauna!) was such a mess I couldn’t go inside. But oh, the neighborhood was sweet! So I narrowed my geographic search and didn’t give up. If I’d been pissed off and driven away, I’d have missed the possibilities nearby.
Fly! If a gymnast has second thoughts after she’s airborne, bones will be broken. Points will be lost. The same is true for you and for me. Once we make a decision, we have to commit. Transfer the deposit. Book the movers. Don’t look overthink your trick. At least not until you’ve regained your balance. Take a nice long break. Then you can re-assess.
Change is sneaky. We all know that. And attachment is a mirage. But this experience of losing a fine house and finding one better has taught me something new.
It’s okay to want more.
It’s okay to want better.
Even when we have enough.
