Decisions: The Crossroads Between “Good Enough” and holding out for “Better”
Recently, I’ve found myself standing at the proverbial fork in the road, except this time, there’s real dirt underfoot and the view is less metaphorical and more… 13 acres of possibility. It’s land—good land. Land with water (a well!), electricity, and the kind of agricultural zoning that makes future dreams like farm stands and pumpkin patches far less of a bureaucratic headache.
And the owner? The kind of rare unicorn willing to do a lease-to-own arrangement—something that’s more “hey, let’s make a deal” and less “sign over your soul for 30 years.” It’s affordable. It’s possible. It’s sitting just seven miles from my current home, which means far enough to feel like an escape but not so far that it might as well be Narnia.
But here’s the catch: It’s hidden. Unless you’re on a very specific dirt road with a very specific intention to find me, you’re not going to stumble onto it. It’s not prime real estate for things like Christmas tree sales or garden pizza nights, the kinds of dreams I have that involve community, people, and the bustle of families driving up for pumpkins or sipping cider as the sun sets.
On the other hand, there’s another possibility: leasing land even closer to home. It’s accessible, convenient, and perfect for farm activities. It would make the farmstand a magnet for the curious, and a weekend pumpkin patch the kind of place kids remember for years. But there’s no guarantee of ownership. That land would never be mine. And while leasing gives me the opportunity to get started right away, there’s something undeniably temporary about pouring energy and heart into land that might never truly belong to me.
The Push and Pull of Dreams
So here I stand, pulled between two possibilities. One feels like security—something that’s mine to mold and grow, where I can dream and build without worrying that it will one day slip through my hands. The other feels like “better”—or at least better for the short-term vision I have of farmstand sales, Christmas trees, and community-driven events that make my little slice of earth feel alive.
And I know this: opportunities rarely come neatly labeled as “this is the right one!” More often, they come tangled up with pros and cons, risks and rewards, and a whole lot of second-guessing.
A Moment of Clarity—Or Not
I’ve always found decisions like this to be both exhilarating and infuriating. There’s the planner in me—the part of me that wants to make the smart decision. The one who thinks, “What if I jump at this and something better is just around the corner?” There’s the dreamer in me who says, “But what if this is the opportunity you’ve been praying for, just not in the exact packaging you expected?”
And somewhere in the middle, there’s the realist—the person who knows that no decision will ever be perfect. Because nothing ever is. The truth is, choosing this land or that land isn’t really about location or water rights or convenience. It’s about deciding what’s most important right now and trusting that the rest will unfold.
Do I want the escape? A quiet plot of land where no one will find me unless I want them to? A place where the earth feels like mine, where I can breathe and grow my dreams one slow, steady season at a time? Or do I want to build something closer to home—a space that feels vibrant and full of people, even if it might never truly be mine to keep?
The Beauty (and Frustration) of “Not Yet”
This is where faith comes in. Not just faith in God, though that’s a huge part of it, but faith in the process—faith that the right answer will reveal itself when the time is right. Sometimes, decisions feel like standing at the edge of a field on a foggy morning. You can see the outline of where you’re going, but not the details. You just have to start walking and trust that the path will clear as you go.
That’s the hardest part of all, isn’t it? The waiting. The wondering if you’re rushing ahead or dragging your feet. But I’m learning—slowly—that waiting isn’t wasted time. It’s preparation. It’s the season before the season, where roots grow unseen.
Maybe this land is “good enough,” and good enough is all I need to get started. Or maybe “better” is just around the corner, waiting for me to be brave enough to wait for it.
Dreams Are Worth the Tension
If there’s one thing I know, it’s this: The dreams we care about most—the ones that tug at our hearts, that keep us up at night, that push us into uncomfortable territory—come with tension. That tension is a gift. It forces us to ask hard questions:
Is this the right path?
Am I ready to take a risk, or do I need to wait?
Am I chasing convenience, or am I pursuing what I really want?
The answers aren’t always clear, but the act of wrestling with them matters. It reminds us that we’re alive and dreaming—that we care enough to be deliberate, not hasty.
So, What Will I Choose?
Honestly? I don’t know yet. I’m leaning toward the quiet land—the 13 acres where I can plant my dreams slowly and intentionally. There’s something about land that’s mine, water that’s available, and a road that only a few people will travel that feels right for where I’m at. Like a garden, it’s an investment of time, patience, and faith.
But I’m also holding the decision loosely, because I know this: Something better might come along. And if it does, I’ll be ready.
For now, I’m going to keep dreaming. I’ll pray about it, take one small step after another, and trust that whether it’s this land, another, or something I haven’t yet imagined, the path will become clear.
Because the beautiful thing about decisions like this is that they’re rarely the end of the story. They’re just the beginning.
And wherever I end up—pumpkins, pizza nights, and all—I know this: I’ll plant something that matters.
What about you? Have you ever found yourself torn between “good enough” and waiting for something better? How did you decide? I’d love to hear about it. 🌱
