Cindy La Ferle insists that midlife is an exciting time for women. A veteran columnist in metro Detroit, she's widely recognized for her award-winning essays on home and family. These days she'll tackle almost any topic. Whether she's reinventing her empty nest or rehashing her political views, she believes the personal is universal -- and that the best is yet to come.

When More isn't enough
by Cindy La Ferle

  Spring has finally arrived and FOR SALE signs are sprouting like dandelions. Several signs have cropped up in our neighborhood, each triggering a memory of the time my husband and I decided to sell the home we owned before the one we live in now.
   We lived in our previous home nearly five years -- long enough to know we'd miss our neighbors after the move. But we thought we'd outgrown it. We needed more storage. The bedrooms were cramped. The garage was claustrophobic. And we absolutely had to have a bigger kitchen.
   Before listing our home on the market, our Realtor asked us to outline its special features along with any improvements we had made. The list was very long: New roof, new fence, new landscaping. Air-conditioning. Buckets of paint. Yards of wallpaper. Hours of elbow grease.
   That's when I began to appreciate how nice that home really was.  Suddenly I saw it through the eyes of a prospective buyer who would fall in love with it. I imagined another woman walking slowly through its rooms, admiring the carved oak mantel in our living room, then moving on to examine the cute vintage tiles in the kitchen. Maybe she wouldn't have chosen the dark print wallpaper in the first-floor bathroom. But surely she'd be pleased to see that the floors upstairs had been refinished. Maybe she could picture her own writing desk in the cozy spare bedroom with the sloped ceiling.
   That wasn't the only time I nursed a few regrets about selling the house. And that’s when I developed a theory that nobody cleans a home thoroughly until it's time to show it to the public.
   The moment a FOR SALE sign is planted on your front lawn, the place is fit for a magazine feature. It smells like Murphy's Oil Soap. The tiniest closets look roomy again (because most of your shoes are stuffed in a box under the bed). Your old stove glistens like it did in the showroom. The front door sports a fresh coat of paint, and the whole place wears a brand-new attitude.
   So why the heck are you selling it? Unless your boss has transferred you to Boston, or you’ve suddenly acquired a set of triplets, your reason might have something to do with the fictitious notion that a bigger house will solve most of your problems. 
  "It is human nature always to want just a little More," writes therapist Timothy Miller, author of How to Want What You Have: Discovering the Magic and Grandeur of Ordinary Existence. "People look for More under the delusion that they will be happy when they get More. In fact, if and when they get More, they are not any happier than they were before, and they still want More."
  We can control our appetite for More, he says, by practicing three basic principles: to have compassion for others, to pay attention to the positive things in life, and to feel gratitude for the blessings we already have. "When you learn to want what you have," Miller explains, "you will start to live in accordance with the old saying that happiness is a way of traveling rather than a destination."  
   Miller has a point. After pondering his philosophy, I've become more grateful for the home I live in -- and for all the good things in my life. I'm realizing the fullness of having enough. Any day now, I'll stop dreaming about that extra closet space at Meadow Brook Hall.
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This essay is excerpted from Cindy La Ferle's award-winning essay collection, Writing Home. The book is distributed by Wayne State University Press and is available in bookstores nationally. Cindy lives in Royal Oak, where she teaches writing workshops and creates altered art. She blogs at Cindy's Home Office: www.laferle.com. Send comments to cindy@laferle.com