My Life. My Rules.

I spoke with a mortgage broker this morning.

This weekend, Dawna and I are driving up to La Junta to look at houses. The application is in. Now we're waiting on the pre-approval letter so we know what kind of trouble we can afford to get ourselves into.

Things are moving.

And they're moving at exactly the right speed.

It's funny watching people react when you start making big decisions. They immediately begin running your life through their own risk calculator. Earlier this week my boss asked what would happen if Dawna and I didn't work out. Would the house still be a good investment? Would I lose money? Why wasn't she moving down here since I'm the primary breadwinner?

They're fair questions.

But they're questions I answered months ago.

That's the thing about me that most people don't understand. By the time I tell someone I've made a decision, the decision is already over. I don't announce ideas while they're still forming. I don't ask people what they think I should do. I don't take polls on my own life.

I think.

A lot.

I sit with an idea for weeks. Sometimes months. I attack it from every angle I can think of. I look for flaws. I imagine the worst-case scenario. I ask myself what happens if everything falls apart. I argue against my own position until I either convince myself it's a bad idea or I can't find another reason not to do it.

Only then do I make a decision.

People mistake decisiveness for impulsiveness.

They're not even close to the same thing.

Buying a house with Dawna isn't something we dreamed up over coffee one morning. We've known each other for years. We've talked about where we want to live, what kind of life we want, what retirement looks like, what riding together looks like, what writing looks like, and what building a future together looks like. This isn't some whirlwind romance that appeared out of nowhere. This has been growing for a long time.

The house isn't really the point anyway. The house is just where we'll keep our stuff while we're out living.

That's the part I think people miss.

They assume I'm chasing real estate.

But I’m not. I'm chasing freedom. I'm chasing the life I actually want.

For a long time, I wasn't doing that.

Like most people, I was living the life that made sense. The responsible life. The predictable life. Work hard. Build the retirement. Stay where the paycheck is. Wait until someday to really start living.

Then a Subaru pulled a U-turn.

It's amazing how quickly "someday" loses its appeal when you're lying in a hospital bed wondering whether you're going to walk normally again.

Death has a way of clarifying things.

It strips away all the bullshit and leaves only the questions that matter: What do I actually want? Who do I want to spend my life with? If I only have a few years left, am I living them the way I want to?

Those questions changed me.

People around me still talk about maximizing my pension. They tell me I only have thirteen years left. Hang in there. It'll be worth it. You'll have a comfortable retirement.

A comfortable retirement? You mean when I'm old? What if I don't make it that long?

I'm done building my life around a future that isn't guaranteed.

That doesn't mean I'm throwing caution to the wind. I'm not quitting my job tomorrow. I'm making sure the finances work. We'll have enough income before I ever walk away. I'll keep writing books. I'll buy investment property. If I need to do consulting or freelance work, I'll do it.

I'm not being reckless. I'm being intentional. There's a difference.

For the first time in my life, I'm making decisions because they're the life I want to live, not because they're the life someone else expects me to live.

That feels... different.

Maybe that's what growing older is really about.

Not becoming more cautious. Becoming more honest.

Right now, three things are absolutely clear to me: I was born to write. I was born to ride. And Dawna is the woman I want beside me while I do both.

Everything else is supporting cast. Everything else is just noise.

So yes, we're looking at houses. Not because I need another investment. But because I need a place to come home to after a thousand-mile ride with the woman I love. Because I want mornings filled with coffee and writing, afternoons spent carving mountain roads, and evenings sitting on a porch with my wife talking about where we're going next.

Because that's my dream.

Not someone else's.

Mine.

Dead Poets Society got one thing exactly right: Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

I've spent enough years living the life everyone else thought I should live. The rest of this one belongs to me.