As a psychologist, I was taught that the capacity to exercise delayed gratification versus instant gratification is considered a sign of maturity. But maybe, just maybe, waiting 45 years for something exceeds the boundaries of maturity and borders on masochism. Or maybe that’s just what it takes these days to buy a house on Martha’s Vineyard, an unusual combination of maturity and masochism with a chaser of luck thrown in.

From our first trip to the Vineyard together back in 1979, my husband I dreamed of owning our own place on the Island. Being in graduate school meant we bought into this idea of the value of delayed gratification. With less than two nickels to our name we came to the Vineyard with our tent and our bikes and fantasized of returning someday with degrees in hand and the money to buy a home. Camping was replaced by stays at bed and breakfasts and, later, home rentals with kids in tow. We helped owners pay off their mortgages over the years as we introduced our family to the magic of a two-week vacation on Martha’s Vineyard.

Driving off the ferry in our fully loaded Subaru wagon with three kids in the backseat and five bikes hanging off the bumper we relished the reward for working hard all year in anticipation of our return to our beloved island. As we drove from beach to beach and biked the bike path we daydreamed about where we would choose to live. Access to the bike path was key, as were an outdoor shower and a yard big enough for playing ping-pong. Over the years we drifted to life up-Island and discovered the beauty of kayaking on Tisbury Great Pond.

For us, owning on the Island was never so much about possession as it was about access to, and preservation of, a way of life that speaks to our hearts. Despite a growing family and the cost of college tuitions we maintained our connection to the Island by making day trips with our bikes and a promise to ourselves that if we ever could afford a home, we would jump off Jaws Bridge to celebrate.

After the death of my mother and the sale of her New York City Co-Op, we found ourselves in the enviable position of having the means to try to make our dream come true. Unfortunately, however, Covid arrived at the same time, and we were faced with an unprecedented escalation in real estate prices.

Our capacity for delayed gratification never faltered. And fortunately, the tenacity of our real estate agent never waned as we spent the next five years looking for a house. We lost out on one house after another as prices soared and inventory shrank. We saw more than 100 homes and parts of the Island we never knew existed. Try as we might to make ourselves fall in love with other more reasonably priced parts of the country, our hearts wouldn’t cooperate.

Miraculously on Memorial Day weekend last year we found a house that we could call home. With the help of many talented Islanders we have renovated, painted and begun to move our belongings here.

Delayed gratification has lost some of its appeal now that we have entered the stage of life where time is measured by what’s left rather than what’s to come. Instant gratification feels prudent rather than indulgent. So, once the water warms up a bit, maturity be damned, we will bike to Jaws Bridge and jump in to celebrate our good fortune to finally be washed ashore.

Maggie Mulqueen lives in West Tisbury.