I’m sitting in front of my laptop, the blinds are open on this unseasonably warm autumn day, and I’m looking out into a corner of my backyard. The merest whisper of wind flutters the leaves on the trees. There are a lot of trees where I live. This is not inner city living by any stretch. I left those days behind in exchange for trees and space, space for children to grow, to run. We have that in spades here.

We also have space for me. I am typing on my laptop, watching wind whisper through leaves from the window in my study. MY STUDY. A space dedicated just to me and the words I want to write. NEED to write.

Only fifteen months ago, I was busy settling into a new house. Not this one. This one is the new new house. Fifteen months ago, we thought we had hit the jackpot with a house that offered more space and excellent proximity to the kids’ school. We had fantastic neighbours. But then we got the letter that said that the landlords wanted to live in our perfect house so it wasn’t so perfect anymore.

Now I am here, whispering wind and a study and so many trees, and I think to myself, it’s so hard to have faith in the journey life takes you on. Of course, I don’t believe that life is just something that happens to you. I know that I am in control of many aspects of the trajectory of my own life. But there are larger, over-arching themes in a life where things have happened that were outside of my control and it has felt like too much to endure. Why have things happened in this way? I would wonder to myself. This path seems unnecessarily difficult.

And so it was with the perfect house. Why had the universe made this house a part of our plans? What was the point of moving to a house only to have to find another one again 11 months later? Why the stress and upheaval? The financial sucker punch? Just when we were beginning to settle, to regroup.

But this is the beauty of life and the challenge of faith. Sitting here in my study, hanging washing on my line, lying in my bed feeling contentment somewhere inside my bones, it all makes sense. But I could not have known this when I first opened the Notice to Vacate letter. That initial sinking feeling was inevitable. And then I concentrated on new beginnings but I was crossing my fingers and flying blindly because you don’t know. You never know. You can only hope that the next thing will be better.

So I want to sing out with gratitude that this is undeniably better. We have been deposited right where we are meant to be. I feel it when I turn into our street, when I pull into our driveway, when I walk in the front door. I hear the kids playing in the yard. And then sometimes I don’t hear them because there is so much space in this house that I can’t always be sure where everyone is. For some reason, I know they’re okay though. This place gives me such a sense of peace. I feel safe here. I don’t feel safe many places. There is an energy in this funny old house that agrees with me. I am sleeping more soundly.

This is some kind of magic.

Today, however, I am exhausted because Harlow was really unsettled last night. Magic houses are not a cure for everything.

I wish my faith would kick in stronger and earlier. It would save a lot of angst. But leaping into the unknown is so much harder when you drag kids off the edge of the cliff with you. But we have landed, more softly than expected.

So thank you, Universe, for delivering. You always do. Sometimes the road is bumpier than I am strictly comfortable with but you have your reasons, I know. Knowing those reasons ahead of time would make things easier but the learning is in the coping we have to do in between, before things begin to make sense.

In this moment, everything is crystal clear.