A little over a year ago, on October 26, 2022, I penned a post, “Leaping & Untethering“, attempting to grapple substantively with beginning to imagine our lives post Rosslyn. One of many posts over the last year and a half that approach this touchy topic, the words I wrote were cautious. I included the word “leaping” in the title as a challenge to myself. Be brave. Court courage. Leap! But, as often, my post drifted into a milk toast muddle more intent on understanding the backstory then leaping boldly into a new adventure. And so today I revisit the original impetus. Untethering revisited. Again. And again. In order to, soon if I’m successful, convince myself that I’m ready, that we, Susan and I, are ready to untether from our home of seventeen and half years in order to start fresh.
Today Susan and I are longer-term Rosslyn residents — by a factor of four! — than even our most unbridled expectations at the outset. And yet we struggle to untether ourselves from our adventure fairytale with this home, property, and community. In the months ahead I’ll explore this curious connection with place, with an old house that became our home, with a community that beguiled us from the outset and wove us into its enchanting tapestry, and also with the fact that we originally envisioned this chapter of our lives as a temporary transition, a wholesome regrouping, and how challenging it has been to separate ourselves from Rosslyn, and from this community. The complex liminal space we envisioned Rosslyn becoming way back in 2006 was not ready to graduate us after three of four years as we’d originally anticipated. And today Rosslyn’s remarkable liminality is once again catalyzing profound and important growth for us. Transformation is omnipresent, not only at Rosslyn, but everywhere. We’re living through many levels of concurrent transition. And Rosslyn, as she has since 2006, is guiding us, nurturing us, and preparing us for what awaits us down the road.
Today’s post, though rambling and unwieldy, comes at a time when we are brainstorming and daydreaming and contemplating what it would look like to untether and disembark on a new adventure. The vision is still forming, the seed still germinating. But you’re invited to join us as we contemplate and eventually cast off.
(Source: Leaping & Untethering)
Almost exactly fourteen months later we’re *still* cultivating the seed into a seedling, *still* developing and editing the vision, *still* making slow and steady progress. In fact, we’ve made notable progress in 1) imagining an Adirondack Coast successor to Rosslyn, and 2) developing a plan — albeit preliminary and still much evolving — with an engineer who has been methodically iterating, revising, pursuing permitting, etc.
In other words, we’re no longer just contemplating what it would look like to untether from Rosslyn to embark on a new adventure creating a home ideally suited for our new chapter. We’re well into the adventure. And, if my hope bears fruit, advancing our plan for a future home will catalyze the untethering. Transforming all that we have lived and loved about Rosslyn into a unique vision of home precisely tailored to our needs in the coming years is already catalyzing a profound shift in my willingness, indeed my readiness, to begin imagining Rosslyn as the future home of another family. So, liminality once again defines the contours of our journey.
When Susan and I bought Rosslyn in 2006 we originally planned to live here for a few years. Four max. Even four years felt like an immense timeline back then. We were young, and our life plans were wide-ranging. Two, three, possibly four years to reboot ourselves while restoring a home seemed reasonable. A comprehensive rehab, both personal and residential. How long could that possibly take? We’d be on our way, chasing down our next adventure in no time…
As it turned out, Rosslyn had other plans for us. She demanded *all* of our time, energy, and resources. We poured everything we had into restoring her. We trimmed back our other responsibilities to devote ourselves to Rosslyn. And then trimmed again. We became obsessed. We became myopic. We became helicopter homeowners. Four years became eight years became twelve years became sixteen years became seventeen and a half years. Gradually projects ascended the punch list; gradually completed projects outnumbered incomplete projects. Across the years we fell more and more deeply in love with this home and the memories Rosslyn made possible with our family and friends. We accepted that a home is never 100% restored, never complete. It’s a work in progress. A living being. Evolving. Demanding maintenance and revisions. Forever. We endeavored to recalibrate our pace and our priorities. We learned to live fully even as our historic rehab stretched and expanded. We began to appreciate the structure and mission and context that Rosslyn had braided into our lives, our marriage. And we’ve come to recognize an inevitable although many times delayed transition. Rosslyn is almost ready for a new family. And we are almost ready to create a new home.
Toward Untethering
In August 2022 I began preparing to let go of Rosslyn. I conceived of a process that would allow me to explore the curious connection that Susan and I have discovered with this home. The process would involve a daily reflection on our relationship, especially my relationship with this property, our endless renovation, evolving notions of home, and our present almost-readiness to start a new chapter along the Adirondack Coast.
One post every day for a year. That was the goal.
But, much like the subject I was exploring, this quest would not allow itself to be confined within a year. Seventeen months after initiating this twelve month challenge, 514 days after embarking on this 365 day adventure, I’m still at it. Still untethering. Still not quite ready to say goodbye to our home. But a lot closer than I was. And doing the work daily — on Rosslyn Redux and with my bride while driving, over dinner, falling asleep in bed — so that we’ll be ready for that metaphorical metric we conjured many moons ago. If, approaching Essex on the ferry, we observe another family swimming, water-sporting, hammocking, laughing, lunching, and generally enjoying Rosslyn’s boathouse and waterfront, are we willed with joy? I think I’m almost ready…
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