The concept of space – as in, room to spin/jump/run/relax/cuddle/sit in silence – is lost on boats. That is, unless you’re alone on a boat. But even then, good luck jumping or spinning or running or even relaxing because that boat is going to try and drift away, crash into the rocks, and/or sink along the way. Maybe even catch on fire or hit another boater. Boats are the epitome of Murphy’s Law. If it could go wrong it most certainly will.
Therefore… Space becomes the dream of a boater.
My husband had been in the charter yacht industry much longer than me – more than twice the years, and on a wider variety of boats. So his dreams were much more vivid and specific (and endearing – the poor guy just wanted to sleep at night without worrying about an anchor dragging). He wanted a workshop to work on projects (reads: things he actually enjoys doing versus fixing the same damned broken toilet, with wiring and computer boards that could take you to the moon and back, over and over again); he wanted tools and an organization system that didn’t require moving twelve things to get to that one specialized screwdriver; he wanted privacy and a sense of ownership.
My dreams have been more whimsical – like a strong desire to surround myself with animals and gardens and yoga mats and crafting supplies. And for my husband (and myself) I wanted peace of mind.
Househunting is a phenomenon that my husband took into his own hands and made his little you-know-what. He is an expert-level Googler and found us an incredible piece of property that no one else had seen – and we snagged it.
I’m not sure if I’m more excited for Ernie or for myself.