My dream house.
I had the dream again last night. In it, I am trying to make sense of a house that’s too small and cramped. It's awful. We have to move.
And then suddenly I discover a false wall, or a door I never noticed. Once it led to an entire empty floor above the one we lived in. Another time, an acre of land.
It always feels like a revelation.
Last night it was a tiny room behind a false wall.
What else is this house hiding? I wondered. Stepping through another door, I found a vast space made of stone, like the ruin of an old chapel, sixty feet high. Beyond this wonderful space was a narrow cobbled street with a row of shops I had somehow missed for ten years. A bike shop, a book shop….and just beyond…the sea!
This was miraculous. I followed the road down a bit more and came across a branch of John Lewis. Practically next door. Oh joy and rapture!
I hated to wake up from my discovery that the house wasn’t too small after all, but full of potential and interest and just next door to all the things I love. (No horses? Asked my husband incredulously. But no, no horses.)
I started writing again this week after a long and frightening logjam that seemed to last forever.
My dream always tells me the same thing: There are more spacious and wonderful places to go than you ever realized. Even when you can’t find them, they’re there. Waiting.