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Dreaming My Way to the Place with Sunsets

By Ann L. Gray

Ann Gray’s personal account of how dreams guided her in relocating to Florida is a vivid example of how we can dream our way to our dream home.

First of all, the biggest block to my move was me!  I never had the intention to leave Manhattan.  I was happy with my life--I had a beautiful apartment with spectacular views, an interesting career and good friends.  I had moved there right after college when the city, parks and subways were unsafe.  I told my father, "I am going to change the world starting with New York City."  He replied, "That's a good place to start."  Many years later after much effort The Big Apple was polished again.  Even 9/11 didn't budge me. 

No, what finally made me move was a series of coincidences and obstacles:  my building going condo; shall I buy?; whoops, construction going up across the street taking my views.  We're in a neighborhood now zoned for 30 floors.  How can  a 30 story building tower over me on the top floor of a 34 story building?  Tall floors, that's how!  Cranes, construction crews, lumber, jackhammering.  And the real estate market still flat from 9/11.  Got to make moves.  Sell to someone at my insider's price by the end of December and buy another place in NYC.  But an application I had submitted for a place mysteriously could not be found.  Other places were too small, no views.

So I called my boyfriend in Florida.  "Find us a place with sunsets."  I asked for one with a boat dock.  He found a town home on a marina and I flew down to Florida to have it inspected.  It had great possibilities. 

At this point I had two dreams.

The first one shows a long cable outside the windows stretching a long distance.  What was that?  It was so vivid that to honor the dream I had the realtor check to see if the Florida utility company was planning to run some cable by my new place.  No.  Interesting...

The second dream is of a duplex condo with two balconies side by side looking out over a large expanse of open water.  No bustling marina full of boats--just a very nice view of a harbor-like area with distant shores.  I am getting ready to entertain lovely guests using good crystal set out on the table in anticipation.  As I am going down the stairs from upstairs I notice a monkey.

About this time I call my lawyer to start the paperwork on the purchase of the town home at the marina.  He is told, "Oh, I sold that place.  I didn't think they were serious!"  Ouch!  That hurt.  And it's now November, Thanksgiving, 30 days remaining;  I'm at my family in Cleveland.  I implore my boyfriend one more time.  "Find us a place where no one can build and take away our views.  And I must have sunsets."  He calls me.  They FAX papers.  I sign and FAX back.  I have bought my new home sight unseen.

Needless to say, when I finally get to see it in actuality, it has double balconies facing a large open expanse of water on the Indian River.  It is one of four duplexes with views as well of the ocean 1/4 mile to the east.  But what about the monkey?  And what about the line of cable in front of my windows?

The monkey is an orange gibbon life-size puppet from NYC that my boyfriend would whimsically hang in various spots--often at the bottom of the spiral staircase.  The cable line was actually a safety cable that ran along the roof edge that had too much slack in it and gradually became more visible through time and wind.  When the hurricanes of September 2004 extensively damaged our condo a substantial well-anchored cable was installed all during the reconstruction.  The work crews used it as a safety line while they installed the new metal roof. It was visible for months and removed after the roof work was done.  Every time I saw it I felt happy that I had bought the right place.

The condo we rented for two years while we were displaced?  Right in the same marina where we almost bought.

Our newly refurbished home is now hosting lovely guests.  Yes, with good crystal.  Just a few weeks ago I had a final dream about my move.  I am in a NYC taxicab looking at fabulous scenes of the famous skyline--picture postcard views.  I tell the person sitting to my left in the back seat, "I have water."  I guess that doesn't sound impressive enough, so I add, "I have water AND palm trees!"  I certainly feel the equation is balanced in my favor.