We Have Donkeys in the Backyard
I was listening to a recent podcast where a couple with two young children were struggling with both the will, and the how, to move out of their parents’ basement. The father worked outside the home and made a decent income for a young family of four, and the mother stayed at home with the two young kids. In short, they could move out of their parents’ basement and get a place of their own. On paper, everything pointed to them being ready to move. But when the baffled host asked them why they believed they couldn’t move out, the wife calmly stated:
“We have donkeys in the backyard.”
(AWKWARD PAUSE…)
“Uhhhh, Please explain further,” the host replied.
The wife went on to explain that, as a side gig, they have a male and a female donkey and they breed donkeys, which makes them an extra couple thousand a year, maybe.
BUT, if they sold the donkeys, they could get around $1,000 for each, and then they would be able to move out of their parents basement, rent a small place of their own, and finally begin to save and plan for a future with their family of four, which they so desperately wanted!
They were ready. But the donkeys…she wasn’t ready to leave them. She loved the donkeys, and loved being a breeder, and couldn’t yet imagine her life without them and this little side business they had created. She wasn’t ready to give that up.
By now (as was I at this moment) you’re likely thinking that this is ridiculous. She loves having donkeys more than getting out of her parents basement? More than moving on with her life with her husband and two young children? More than her husband? More than her kids? Is she crazy?!?!?! Just sell the donkeys!!
But this isn’t a story about what’s more important. It’s not a story about her family. It’s not a story about finances. It’s not a story about the basement. And it’s not even a story about the donkeys.
In fact, it’s a story you and I can relate to. It’s a common and pervasive story about change, and the fear that it can create.
The wife wanted to move out, and was excited by that plan, but yet couldn’t let go of what was. She could envision this new and wonderful future, and at the same time was paralyzed by the idea of leaving a part of her past, a part that had served them well for a brief time.
When faced with change, we naturally do two things—plan for what’s ahead and grieve what’s being left behind. And more often than not, the weight of that grief wins because we can’t be certain that what lies ahead will truly be better than what once was.
We can envision a better future. We can close our eyes and almost feel it—see it, smell it, hear it, even taste it. But then, we open our eyes, glance in the rearview mirror, and reality hits—the donkeys are still there, hee-hawing away, snapping us right back to the present
We allow one thing to overshadow all the potential positive changes ahead. We choose the comfort of the familiar over the discomfort of change—even when that change could lead to something better.
We convince ourselves that staying is the safer choice, trading short-term comfort for long-term regret. But staying is still a decision, and the idea of safety is nothing more than an illusion of the present moment.
Life will change—so take the wheel and drive the change, rather than simply being a passenger.
Change is hard, and it can be both exciting and scary at the same time. There will always be donkeys in the backyard, but sometimes you gotta close the blinds, ignore them, or find a new yard. And if you can’t ignore them, sell them.
Trust me, your life will always be better off without asses in your backyard.
