In part there is no way to predict the future but there are ways to steer the ship. That is probably the funny thing about life. We spend so much time trying to plan it, only to realise that the biggest chapters often arrive when we are busy looking the other way.
This month we have (nearly) sold our family home. The place where two of my children were born and a place where my dad spent time with us. A house that has held so many ordinary moments that somehow became extraordinary, simply because they were ours.
We are never really owners of a house, are we? We are custodians (I still think about why us brits are so obsessed with owning, unlike other countries who happily rent for their entire life). We look after homes for a while, fill them with our stories, then hand them on for someone else to do exactly the same. There’s something strangely comforting in that, that homes outlive us. They witness so many different people, different celebrations, different heartbreaks, different beginnings - and different endings.
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