A Foot on Two Shores

Learning that home doesn’t always live in one place.

Lately I’ve been realizing something about my life that feels a little unusual.

I live on two shores.

Some days I wake up at our cottage by the lake, with a coffee and Baileys in my hand, a quiet house around me, and a list of small projects waiting to be tackled. I close my eyes and take it in.

The quiet of the lake in the morning
The sound of the wind through the trees
The smell of the garden soil.

Other days I’m in Fergus with Keith, the kids and the kitties — sharing dinners, family time, and the familiar rhythm of a home he once had pretty much all to himself… before I showed up with my toothbrush and started asking for closet space.

Somewhere between those two places, I’ve realized that my life doesn’t fit neatly into one shoreline.

And for a while, I carried a small feeling of guilt about that.

Married couples are supposed to live under one roof, right? Keith has a great line whenever I text from the cottage to say “I miss you!”. He says, “remember, I HAVE to be here; you CHOOSE to be there”. He’s not wrong. I do have a choice.

When I retired, I made a quiet commitment to myself:

I would start doing more of the things that fill up my cup — not instead of caring for others, but so I could care for them better.

My health.
My family.
My creative projects.

That can be interpreted as selfish (me, me, me) but it’s actually the opposite. Retirement has given me the freedom to choose the shore I need to be on in order to keep my cup full. When my cup is full, I have the energy I need to take care of the people and things that matter most.

And I’ve come to realize that having two shores gives me the space to do exactly that.

Each place fills my cup in a different way.

My time at the cottage gives me quiet space to write and be creative.
It gives me long conversations with my sister.
It gives me time to tend the garden and try new recipes in the kitchen.

My time in Fergus gives me evenings with Keith.
It gives us time to talk about the projects we want to tackle.
It gives us space to dream about where we’ll travel next.

The cottage fills my cup with quiet and creativity.

Fergus fills my cup with connection and love.

Different shores.
Same fullness.

I’ve started to realize that our life together — split between the house in Fergus and our cottage by the lake — might actually be something unexpected and beautiful.

Maybe life doesn’t always ask us to choose one shore or the other.

Sometimes the most peaceful place to stand is with a foot on both.

Until next time, may a small wave of inspiration find you.