I doubt any of you will be surprised to learn that I watch a lot of HGTV. I watch all the shows, pretty much, and would watch even more if we hadn't canceled our premium cable package. I love all renovations shows, and indeed, my childhood home was a renovation project, so my early years were sort of like growing up with the property brothers. My whole family just really loves real estate: going to open houses was a regular Sunday afternoon activity in my family. And then I met Josh, who works in real estate, and so the love affair continues.
All this to say: I understand real estate aspirations! What I do not understand, however, is the idea of a "dream house." I also do not understand the idea of a "dream job," but I'll get to that in a minute.
The people on HGTV shows are constantly talking about their dream house. The most fascinating part, for me, is that they all seem to have the same dream. They want an open floor plan, they want 3-4 four bedrooms, they want to stay in their current neighborhood (unless they are on House Hunters International), they want a "master" with a spa-like bathroom. They all have a very specific price range, but are OK with blowing past it so they can have the Carrera marble or the gas fireplace or the wine fridge they have their heart set on. And, most annoyingly, they are always ecstatically happy with the final result. They are so happy they cry.
After a few episodes, watching people achieve their dreams so consistently ends up feeling pretty oppressive. I start to think these people's dreams must also be my dreams. Suddenly, the popcorn ceiling in my apartment brings down my mood. My parquet floors begin to nag at me. The laminate counters in my bathroom become unacceptable. If only I could do a renovation! Then I too could be living in dreams!
Then Josh turns off the TV and insists we go outside, and I remember that I actually like my apartment. And then I walk around the block and remember that I don't have dreams about housing at all! I dream about living in Paris, I dream about getting a call from Marilynne Robinson asking for my opinion about an essay she's writing, I dream about writing a bestselling romance/mystery novel under a clever nom de plume, I dream about reading all the Platonic dialogues in order, but I don't dream about houses.
And just a few weeks ago a friend inquired about my future job plans, and when I replied without much gusto I was told I that I need to conceptualize my "dream job" in order to achieve my full career potential. When I insisted that I have never once dreamed about working, she was somewhat taken aback. I don't have a dream job—I have dreams about what I would do if I didn't have to have a job.
This conversation irked me, and I realize now that it's for the same reasons that people crying with happiness when they see new hardwood floors irks me. The whole point of dreaming is that it's not real! Why would you dream about bathroom tiles when you could dream about your long-lost great-aunt bequeathing you a palazzo in Italy? Why would you dream about working when you could dream about stumbling upon buried treasure and only doing whatever you want for the rest of your life?
I do understand that most contentious people have goals, and those goals may include getting particular jobs, purchasing certain houses, and acquiring specific wine fridges. Good for them! But I sincerely hope their dreams involve more interesting flights of fancy.
Then again, I've never cried with happiness about anything, so maybe I really just need to loosen up and take more pleasure in interior decoration.
All this to say: I understand real estate aspirations! What I do not understand, however, is the idea of a "dream house." I also do not understand the idea of a "dream job," but I'll get to that in a minute.
The people on HGTV shows are constantly talking about their dream house. The most fascinating part, for me, is that they all seem to have the same dream. They want an open floor plan, they want 3-4 four bedrooms, they want to stay in their current neighborhood (unless they are on House Hunters International), they want a "master" with a spa-like bathroom. They all have a very specific price range, but are OK with blowing past it so they can have the Carrera marble or the gas fireplace or the wine fridge they have their heart set on. And, most annoyingly, they are always ecstatically happy with the final result. They are so happy they cry.
After a few episodes, watching people achieve their dreams so consistently ends up feeling pretty oppressive. I start to think these people's dreams must also be my dreams. Suddenly, the popcorn ceiling in my apartment brings down my mood. My parquet floors begin to nag at me. The laminate counters in my bathroom become unacceptable. If only I could do a renovation! Then I too could be living in dreams!
Then Josh turns off the TV and insists we go outside, and I remember that I actually like my apartment. And then I walk around the block and remember that I don't have dreams about housing at all! I dream about living in Paris, I dream about getting a call from Marilynne Robinson asking for my opinion about an essay she's writing, I dream about writing a bestselling romance/mystery novel under a clever nom de plume, I dream about reading all the Platonic dialogues in order, but I don't dream about houses.
And just a few weeks ago a friend inquired about my future job plans, and when I replied without much gusto I was told I that I need to conceptualize my "dream job" in order to achieve my full career potential. When I insisted that I have never once dreamed about working, she was somewhat taken aback. I don't have a dream job—I have dreams about what I would do if I didn't have to have a job.
This conversation irked me, and I realize now that it's for the same reasons that people crying with happiness when they see new hardwood floors irks me. The whole point of dreaming is that it's not real! Why would you dream about bathroom tiles when you could dream about your long-lost great-aunt bequeathing you a palazzo in Italy? Why would you dream about working when you could dream about stumbling upon buried treasure and only doing whatever you want for the rest of your life?
I do understand that most contentious people have goals, and those goals may include getting particular jobs, purchasing certain houses, and acquiring specific wine fridges. Good for them! But I sincerely hope their dreams involve more interesting flights of fancy.
Then again, I've never cried with happiness about anything, so maybe I really just need to loosen up and take more pleasure in interior decoration.
