"Where should I put this dish?" my friend Shyamala asked. She held a wet bowl in her hand.
I groaned. "Over there on the drying mat. Here, let me make some room." I stacked dishes and toddler cups and bowls in my arms and dashed around putting things away while my friends washed plates from our gathering that day. "You know what?" I said. "I've given up on this kitchen. I've given up on this place,"
"How come?" my friend Padma asked.
"Just look! Nowhere to put dishes. All this mold and mildew around the sink. Everything crammed into the cabinets. I can't cook without getting stressed. I just want to move into my own home," I declared. "But the housing market is so outrageous, and we just can't afford to move on. I feel like my whole life is on pause,"
Both my friends nodded with kind eyes. But I couldn't help feel that my explanations were excuses, hiding my embarrassment at such a cluttered and unkempt kitchen. In fact, if you were to open any of the closet doors or drawers in my apartment, you would probably raise your eyebrows at the chaos.
A few days later, I went on a japa meditation walk in the evening on my own, the breeze blowing, the sun setting beyond the trees, the stars just beginning to emerge. I looked over at the two-story house where my husband and I rented the ground floor, and a wave of warmth washed over me. I remembered the conversation with my friends, how I had declared that I had given up on this place, but really, I loved living here. Sure, the place needed some upgrades, but if I could, I would live here forever (on both floors). The legalities of ever owning it, however, were beyond complicated. And at the end of the day, we had just outgrown the space of our ground floor a long time ago. We needed a whole house.
Didn't we?
I turned my gaze to the sky and found my first star. I had been suffering from this escalating case of house fever for the past year, and had religiously wished on my first star to move into our dream home soon. More like, ASAP.
Tonight, though, I found myself walking a new prayer path: Please break this house fever and allow me to be at peace, even if that means staying where we are.
We soon officially found a real estate agent and I asked hard-hitting questions about all kind of possibilities. I kept getting slammed by the reality of the cost of owning a home in our current situation. I had spoken to many people over the years who were "house poor" - owning a beautiful home but drowning in the upkeep. I began to realize that this was my experience growing up - even as a kid and teenager, I experienced quite clearly the stress over the mortgage, the worry about the utility bills, the anxiety about repair costs.
One night after my son and husband had gone to bed and all the lights were out, I turned to the glowing screen of my phone and asked Google a nervous, desperate question: How much of my monthly income should I spend on a mortgage?
I'll never forget the answer that came back to me, so black and white: The 28% Rule. Do not spend more than 28% of your total income on rent/mortgage.
My house fever broke.
This is it. This lovely, seemingly cramped place is it, where we can live within our means and be happy and peaceful financially, so that we can focus on loving relationships and on God.
The next morning, I moved my desk into my room and immediately felt a click that yes - this place could work because I could work. I then targeted the infamous kitchen, the room I had never fully accepted or enjoyed since moving in five years ago. While the house fever went down, the physical chaos went up. Furniture and kitchen utensils and shoes and clothing and toys and paintbrushes... all flushed out into the light of day and analyzed - keep? sell? give away? recycle?
The weeks wore on, and organization exhaustion began to filter in. I wondered if we would ever reach the end, if we would ever reach peace.
One day, I was cooking lunch when I realized I could place a dish to dry with ease. In fact, my kitchen had been so thoroughly reorganized and redecorated that I found myself relishing being in the humble little space where I could feed my family with joy. (What's more, new countertops were to be installed soon!)
I then realized that I felt at ease in my entire home. We now had plenty of space because we had made space.
I had begun to realize that I would find frustrating shortcomings no matter where I lived, even if we found some million dollar home on Zillow.
So while I still long for a house home, the longing has become a quiet murmur, like a cat's purr.
I often remember that seemingly long-ago evening where I wished upon my first star, and I experience a swelling of gratitude that Krishna answered my prayer. He has granted me peace - right here, right now.
Now my main longing has turned to welcoming deities of Radha and Krishna into our family. Since we have cleansed and organized the temple of our home, maybe Krishna will come join us. He makes every home perfect.
