Goldilocks had it right, juuuust right
I mean, really, don’t we all want things juuuust right? Not too hot, not too cold. Not too hard, not too soft.
In my house hunt–searching real estate primarily via Internet, daily–and constant picking at the process, I’ve realized a few things about myself. First, my standards are pretty high. Impossibly high? I refuse to think that. I’m willing to compromise on some things, but as mentioned previously, there are some deal breakers (i.e., even if every other desired element was perfect, they’d blow the whole deal–transmission power lines is one biggie). But this is my home I’m looking for, not a used car. It’s where I’ll reside and settle in to a community, spend my money and work, and contribute; where I’ll feel comfortable and safe, where my values are aligned with others in my community, where I will live.
Second, I’m more “a-skairt” of this leap than I thought. It seemed like 2007’s decision to sell, then actually sell and move after 21 years in the same location, was big and scary. In reality it all felt right on target, even at its most challenging moments, and I haven’t looked back or regretted that decision for one iota. Renting is scary, and feels inherently unstable, but it seems it’s not as frightening as taking the plunge to buying a new home of my own, however much I desire this. The What Ifs have me hiding under the proverbial covers, even when I KNOW that everything is going to be okay, and that the perfect place will manifest in perfect time.
So behind the false fronts of prudence and discernment, I’ve been taking my time on the search, content that the right place is out there, waiting for me to find it juuust right. Lately, though, I’ve been feeling more and more frustrated. Perhaps it’s the time of year–it’s mid-Spring and the world is waking up, growing and blooming. I’m tired of living out of boxes, waiting to move into my own place. I want my own place to settle into, to spruce up and decorate, to plant and grow things, so that when I spend half of a day each weekend on yard maintenance, it feels like I’m making my own home, not maintaining someone else’s. But more likely it’s frustration with my own hesitation and fixed ideas of what/where/when. The goofy part is that I haven’t truly nailed those three items down, and my ease with trusting that I’ll know it when I see it isn’t working for me any more. The somewhat nebulous approach is having nebulous results. Shocker.
Don’t get me wrong, I have a list of what I’m looking for–it’s nearing 100 items/conditions, though there is some overlap–it’s just that it isn’t specific enough, primarily in the “where” topic.
There are factors beyond my control–finding the right house/location/price coming on the market (although, as the saying goes, if you can dream it…)–and other factors that are totally in my control, like the decision of where I’ll move, and the probability of leaving my job to move. Leaving a job in this economy seems like financial kamikaze, especially when you’re moving to take on a home mortgage. I have to believe, to trust, that I’ll manifest enough income via my writing and editing, and/or a new job in my (likely) new community.
So it’s time to make another list, the old PRO vs. CON list on those areas that appeal to me. The fear factor can be conquered after that.
To be continued…