I’m in rental home number three since relocating to Santa Fe a year ago. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. But meeting a targeted move-in date when building a home is about as common as knowing where the light switch is upon first entering an Airbnb after dark.

Yesterday the man and I rented a 15-footer to haul a Peloton bike, Vitamix, and garbage bags of all that we’ve been living out of the past year into our, God-willing, third and final rental until our new home is complete. My cat has officially fired us. He’s been under the bed pouting since arrival. And I nearly had a breakdown yesterday as my OCD- tendencies kicked in whilst digging out random piles of clothes, dog toys and toothpaste in no particular order. “Just throw shit in bags, my love,” I was instructed last week to help speed things along.

But we made it, and all will be fine. As I sit in Airbnb number three, reviewing yet another handbook of details on how to manage the radiant heat and front door entry code, I’m reflecting back on what an adventure this experience has been, and just how wildly my emotions have swung on the calm to chaos pendulum.

I had dinner at a fantastic Japanese restaurant at a local hot springs resort with two fellow yoga teachers last month and we swapped stories of moving and building. Humor was my savior that night, aided by rounds of sake. “My contractor stopped mid-job,” one friend shared, adding, “he decided he’d rather try his luck competing in rodeos.” My other friend’s contractor enlisted in the army, after a hunting trip made him realize he really liked using a rifle. I guess bronco riding and sniper practice offer bigger thrills than a measly nail gun.

My share that night had to do with a recent snafu at my last Airbnb. The electricity went out in one of the bedrooms. At night. In 30-degree weather. I absolutely loved the homes’s historic Pueblo style charm and proximity to the Plaza, but didn’t anticipate this. Alas, their electrician (“he works weekends! He’s wonderful!!), had a booze problem. Fortunately we went out of town for a few days shortly thereafter and my lovely hosts got it resolved upon our return.

When you build, and rent, shit happens.

Where should we send your gift to?

My side of the family goes hardcore at Christmas time with the gifts. No matter the man and I have lived in over eight states at multiple apartments, condos, and homes since we met in 2010. Please! I beg every year, do NOT send us anything! Just a phone call and a Merry Christmas will do!! To which they say hell no, you’re getting a basket of pears. Just try and stop us. Except this year, it really will be impossible. Our current rental doesn’t allow mail, and as we’re hoping to move into our permanent home in six weeks, I don’t dare go down the USPS rabbit hole again. We officially do not have an address of any kind until 2025.

Just focus on the stick. Any stick will do.

Prior to the latest move, I’d been outside before sunrise every day to walk my pup Charlie. Mostly enjoyable, save for the lack of sidewalks and a-holes ignoring the 25 mph limit. Like..where are you going at this hour? It’s Santa Fe. Land of Enchantment, aka show up when the spirit calls. There’s no such thing as being late here. But Charlie keeps it simple. Just look for sticks, mama. Any stick will do. He reminds me there’s joy and wonder to be found right in front of me. Tomorrow doesn’t register in his little mind. Just now. The miracle of right now.

Tomorrow will come. I’ll be in a permanent house soon. But for now, I have my adoring man, my rescue pets, my extended family, my health. What else could a girl ask for?