I am now officially an single adult. At the ripe old age of 34 I have put my first bid on a property of my own. It certainly hasn't been easy to even consider leaving this little paradise, and even worse to consider making a decision that fits my current reality rather than the romantic dream I hope to attain, but now that this place is on the market, I am looking for the next spot I can love just as much as this one.
The other day I thought I had found it. It was just right. Everything I was looking for: lake view, safety, right size, already updated in my style and colors, great location, access point for kayaks, storage for my bike...I honestly couldn't find anything wrong with it--except that its asking price was a little too high. As seems to be my curse (as any time I have bought or sold real estate...though it has previously been in the company of another), my offer was received at the same time as another one, and even though the place had been on the market for seven months with no bites, my offer was just too low to compete. I was actually a little surprised that I cried about it when my best buddy called (Damn, she's good at knowing just what to do), and while I would love to blame the whole adolescent tearfest on the monthly estrogen peak, I am not sure that it is anywhere close to being so simple.
About once every few months I get a lecture from my very loving, well-meaning, (and also overbooked) father about slowing down and spending time at home. Usually the words of wisdom come during a month of total stress that finds me barely making pretty much everything I have planned...except dinner with my family. Because my family members are so loving and forgiving, I somehow know that they will still be there for me when I emerge of the other side of my thunder cloud. Either way, stress in me is a visible thing. And while I spend quite a bit of time at home during those times, it is not the kind of time that is truly rejuvenating.
I honestly think that because I am so busy, even the people who love me most do not truly understand how emotionally invested a place "home" is for me. Well, there are a few who do, perhaps...like that same best friend who drove a ridiculous distance yesterday after she put her kids to sleep so that she could "grade" with me (Sorry...we did not get much done. My fault completely.); and there is my mother--I think she might have the same love of this place that I do and it is probably a very good thing that I have not let her stay here much because she would probably take over the porch on a relatively permanent basis; but the truth is this: I love being home.
I love HOME.
I am a "nester" in the underground mammalian sense.
Mammal "nests" are awesome. I LOVE that beavers eye up whole trees and cut them down with their teeth to take them. I love that groundhogs and chipmunks dig holes and stock up on food and line their beds with fur and other soft things. I love to see squirrels crawl out of their ballfulls of leaves and there is actually a tiny bit of me that's envious of the idea of a raccoon nesting in a tree trunk. Little brings me more joy than rearranging furniture. I love to get new linens (Oh, God, I AM my mother!). I love to paint. I love to move things around and find the perfect spots for all my treasures. I can devote weeks to this process and drop everything else that once seemed important to me just to make my little space just perfect and right. And once it IS just right, it is mine. It is my home. And it is sacred. I have been this way about my "space" as long as I can remember.
So today's disappointment that I didn't get the property I'd sought out, that I'd eyed up, and that I perhaps may have trespassed upon more than once in the last 24 hours to be sure it felt right, was not just about losing the bid on a condo. It was about feeling unsettled, knowing that I will soon be uprooted. It was about what in some ways is my deepest fear: being "homeless."
The idea of taking up residence and financially investing in a place without a bit more seriously consideration and time I'm sure seemed completely ludricrous to anyone who listened to the story of my three-day condo adventure. Decisions should not be made with emotions. Or maybe they should...at least in part.
If I always listened to my gut, I would probably be in a very different place right now. But the "voice of reason" has always spoken a bit too loudly, saying "come on...first impressions are not always accurate." The problem is that I am so loving and accepting that once I have convinced myself that a thing or an individual is worth it, there is very little that can succeed at talking me down. I stink at feeling confident about the decisions that I weigh too carefully; actually, when I think about it, the ones I have felt the best about are the ones that happened quickly and were propelled by something deep inside me that had very little to do with logic at all.
I am extremely proud of myself for not bidding too high on this little condo by the lake. I decided by myself what I could afford, was more than conservative in my estimation of my own expenses, was fully aware that certain fees were ridiculously high and yet they would be financing things I would personally value, that the configuration of this particular paradise would not be appealing to many people other than me and would therefore be difficult to resell, and yet I offered my best bid. It wasn't high enough--and such is life. And that is where I'm proud of myself. I did not decide the place using logic; but I did actually engage the mind when I considered the risk of investment. It's a good thing. But so was bidding on it. Because I know that I would do it again in the same community. And now that I am sad I didn't get it? I know that I really do want to live there.
Tonight I went to the grocery store and bought myself dinner. Not the kind I have "made" for myself in the past three years...no. I bought fish, and asparagus, and spaghetti squash, and wine. I haven't cooked for myself like this in a very long time. And it felt good. And now I am sitting on my porch drinking a nice chardonnay and enjoying the sound of the birds as they sing themselves into night. The waves whisper softly. The trees are becoming shadows. It is perfect.
I know what I want. For once in my life, I want what I actually have. And I know that if I am patient and aware, it will find me. I suppose that the right things always do.
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