A house to me used to be a symbol of accomplishment and fre…
A house to me used to be a symbol of accomplishment and freedom. Materialistic me craved a house, a place where I could live independently. I wanted to be the ruler of my own universe and to have that ‘place of belonging’ feeling fulfilled.
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My white picket fence was my way of conforming to a world I never really belonged. I have since discovered that a 9-5 suburban lifestyle is not for me…
How could I ever think that a fence could make me feel like I belonged somewhere? Because I could own a few pieces of wood painted white I will suddenly be happy and content?
I don’t want to be content; I want my life to be an endlessly impulsive and completely irrational. I don’t want that kind of perfect fairytale life where a job serves a pure purpose of buying pretty things. I am not a magpie.
The idea of a white picket fence feels like the end. When I think about it now, it’s as if a white picket fence represents the final accomplishment, that ultimate feeling of satisfaction and completion.
A fence is a segwit fork.