The House on the Beach

In 1976, after living in basement apartments for many years, my husband and I decided that we would buy a house. I was a first year teacher, and he was chasing his dream to be state chess champion, but with the help of my grandmother we were able to afford one--a beautiful house with a large yard, only 26,000 dollars! We felt like we'd moved into the palatial estates.

The next year, a friend approached me and asked, "Do you know how much your house is worth now?"

"No, I don't," I said. "But I love living in it."

She showed me that housing prices had risen drastically, and the house was now worth 50,000 dollars or more! What a delightful revelation! What she said next, though, didn't make a lot of sense to me. "Wow, it's worth so much money, you should sell it and buy something bigger!"

"Oh, no," I replied. "I love my house. I'm staying in this house for the rest of my life." And then, in a tone that made it clear that I thought of it as a pipe dream: "Unless, of course, I had a chance to live on the beach or something."

Over the course of that year, and the year that followed, the house continued to rise in price--up to around 75,000 dollars. None of my friends had bought any property, and were finding it less and less possible as prices went up. They all told me the same thing: that I should sell my house, and buy something bigger. And my response was always the same: I loved my house, and I was going to live in it forever. ...Unless I could live on the beach.

I stayed in my house for 26 years. I had my children in that house, raised them in that house, made so many loving, wonderful memories in that house. But then my children grew up and moved away, and the house was more house than I needed. My old friends, who still couldn't afford to buy any property, noticed that as well--and they were in need of somewhere to live. So I spent a number of years dealing with, essentially, dependent roommates. They were nice people who paid the rent on time, but the long-distance phone bills and excessive usage of electricity was less nice. Eventually, it got so difficult that I decided it was time to have a house that was big enough for just me.

So I started keeping an eye out--not really looking yet, just keeping an eye out--and I realized that it would be good to write down the things I wanted in a house. I'd been told that when you wrote things down, you got them, so I made a list: I wanted a house with a yard half the size of my current one. I wanted to be in every room of the house every single day. I wanted a laundry room. I wanted two bedrooms, one of which I would use as an office. I wanted a nicely-sized kitchen, not too small, not too big. And of course, I wanted it to be in pleasant condition.

As I was writing this list, I kept having thoughts of the sweet little house owned by the principal of the school I taught at. He would be retiring at the end of the year, and moving out of town. I looked over the list and realized that it was all the things I wanted--and it was about a mile from the beach.

I asked whether he was planning to sell his house, and indeed he was--and he was delighted to hear that I was interested in buying it. I was sure that my house would sell for more than he was asking, and we made an arrangement for me to come and take a look. I'd been there before, but now I had all my qualifications in mind: a small yard, two bedrooms, a little kitchen. It was, in fact, everything I had wanted, and as I thought, he asked if I would like to look at the neighborhood.

"Sure!" I told him, expecting that we'd get in his car and take a drive around. Instead, we took a walk--to the beach! I had thought it was a mile away, but it was only a block.


As a child, I had spent a few weeks out of every summer visiting a beach cabin owned by friends of my parents. It was the height of my summer, and here, in this house, I had the chance to live in the height of my summer year-round. I bought the house and lived there for four years, treasuring every second. I am so blessed to be here, I thought to myself.

One morning, I was walking along the beach, and all those conversations with my old friends went through my head. "Unless, of course, I had a chance to live on the beach or something." I hadn't ever taken it seriously, but I'd said it so many times that I had created this situation through my speaking.  It had taken 27 years to get to it, but I hadn't said it with any power--I'd said it as if it was something impossible.

But I'd said it.

Imagine if I had said it with power--established it as a goal and written it down. I might have been there twenty years earlier.