One Last Right Place

I’m not sure if I was looking for something better—or just trying to feel like I was moving.

Today I drove west, looking at a couple of properties I thought might suit me better than my current place.

Lately, I’ve been overthinking everything. Not the useful kind of thinking—the kind that leads somewhere—but the kind that drifts and starts asking questions that don’t need answers. I step outside my own thoughts sometimes and write about them as if they belong to someone else, because from that distance, they don’t even seem logical.

My health takes up more space in my mind than I’d like. It’s always there, quietly influencing everything. Then there’s the reality of having two houses and only living in a small part of one. That should probably mean something. I’m just not sure what.

Lately I’ve been going down a different path in my head—one that feels clear and completely out of reach at the same time.

My latest YouTube obsessions are people my age living off the land in remote places—the kind of life I can see myself in without much effort.

What I can’t see as clearly is how to get there.

The nightmare stories of buying raw land. The unknowns. The mistakes. And before any of that, selling two houses without really knowing how to do it.

Spinning my wheels is the feeling. Not stuck exactly, but not moving either. Motion without progress.

And it’s starting to weigh on me—turning something that should be possible into something that feels difficult, then distant, then almost impossible to imagine getting done in whatever time I have left.

While everyone else seems to be out living their lives, I’ve been sitting here, not doing much at all. 

I don’t want more options. I want fewer decisions..