I bought my first house – closed just a few weeks shy of my 48th birthday.

And it’s terrifying.

The fear stems not from the normal first-time-home-buyer worries such as money and the new obligations and responsibilities of home ownership. Rather, my trepidation stems from one word:

STAY.

I have spent my life living like a vagabond. Being a habitual renter meant that I could easily pick up and go anywhere at any time.

Granted, I have spent my entire adult life relatively grounded – fifteen years in Nashville and the past ten years back home in Texas – the freedom to flee always lurked in the shadows – and I dreamed a ton of dreams of flight.

The plan post-graduation had always been to embark on a new adventure. The sky was the limit. I considered returning to Nashville, pursuing a doctorate in Maryland or California, settling near my friend in Oregon, or moving to London or Spain.

I even considered what it would take to join a Mercy Ship. That would have been awesome – combining my love of chaplaincy with my desire to serve AND travel.

The closest to home I considered was Houston – close to the beach, some of the best hospitals in the country, and home to my favorite football and baseball teams.

But as I took my ideas to God and asked for His desire for me, He told me to stay.

“Are you sure?” I asked God. “I mean, we could go anywhere, do anything.”

“Stay,” He replied.

Now, it’s not that I dislike anything about San Antonio. I love the unique culture. I love my job. I love my family and friends here.

It is the permanence that freaks me out.

And it’s not like I’m not a loyal person. I mean, as my therapist once pointed out, I can be loyal to a fault. (Lots to unpack there and now is not the time.)

It is the silencing of dreams that scares me.

It’s not that I have to have some grand adventure – it’s that there is always the possibility of a grand adventure.

STAY

Coming to this place where I am now a first time homeowner has been a long journey. As exciting as it has been, there has been that twinge of sadness as well, as if I am letting some part of myself go.

That is, until I recalled a similar type of incident and my therapist’s response to it:

Before the pandemic, I had developed a work friendship with a respiratory therapist. He and I often found ourselves running into each other. We began stopping in the hallway and chatting. I liked him, but never once thought of him romantically. I never thought of anyone romantically and it never occurred to me that anyone would think of me romantically.

I mean, I do not go out of my way to look attractive. I consider myself to be quite ordinary and homely, not like I was when I was a young wife married to a professional musician – not like the pre-cancer me who had that long, gorgeous and thick hair. Post divorce and cancer, I had come to see myself as essentially a-sexual and invisible. I assumed everyone else, especially the opposite sex, saw me the same way (or rather, didn’t see me at all). I preferred it this way. I felt safer this way.

It’s not that I was/am not attracted to men. I simply did not want them to be attracted to me. Post divorce/post cancer, I took a long and debilitating journey from hating all men, to hating all male entertainers, to only hating musicians, and from hating only country musicians to realizing what I really felt was a mistrust of myself.

Staying far – FAR – away from any potentiality for romance was the only way to ensure emotional safety.

He knew most of this about me, which is why it shocked me when he asked me out for coffee – to meet up with him outside of work. It turns out, I was not as invisible as I assumed.

I was dumbstruck. I stared at him, unable to speak, move, or breathe.

Good thing he knew me well enough and was self-confident enough not to be hurt by my reaction. He simply smiled, laughed, and revived me by changing the subject.

When I told my therapist about it, we discussed what I felt and thought, and she made a profound statement. She said, “You can have coffee with a man without marrying him.”

The last time I dated I was a young, attractive, and flirty girl. I had no idea what dating would look like for me now: a middle-aged divorced woman with emotional and physical scars – who is in ministry and who feels a moral obligation to live by example.

I held onto so many fears about dating and marriage that the idea that I could just have coffee with a man never even occurred to me.

After also discussing this revelation with female friends, I decided that, should he ask again, I would say yes. Unfortunately, COVID hit soon after and we lost touch.

This silly story relates to homeownership because I realize I could “just have coffee” with a home I own as well.

I mean, people manage to have new adventures while still being grounded.

And lots of homeowners move all the time.

I may love it here and spend the rest of my life here.

Or God may release me and send me to a new place to do new things.

For now, this vagabond is staying put and counting homeownership as a new adventure . . . realizing that I never have to stop dreaming.