We put our house on the market three months ago, never thinking it would really sell. The market! It’s awful! We heard nightly on the news in ominous tones. We did some research. They’re right. Each year we wanted to move and each year these dire warnings held us back. Finally we went with the motto that guides me in most of my life if you try you’re not guarunteed to succeed but if you don’t try you’re guarunteed to fail and decided to see what would happen. The worst case scenario? We stayed right where we were. With a roof over our head, food to eat, and clothes to wear. Not so bad in the global scheme of things. Our sign broke the first week. We never put it back up. That’s how little we thought our chances were for actually moving our property.
Until someone called. And came twice. I baked cookies. Swept and mopped. And waited.
Can you move out in thirty days? They asked.
Sure, I responded.
It’s easy to promise things when you don’t actually think anything is going to happen, but I am now on the other end making good on a promise I didn’t think I’d be asked to keep. With days left to go we just today leased a place in the heart of the city’s most charming section and are packing an entire house and doing all that’s involved in moving out of a house I lived in for 7.5 years.
I love my house. The mexican tiles. The chestnut hardwoods we installed just this Spring. It was warm. It was comfortable. But it was so far away from the city. Burdening us with long commutes and distance from the rich culture and vibrant walkable communities I’ve longed for ever since I experienced it on the streets of Brazil. I don’t love living in the South. I wondered, if I lived closer to Atlanta’s pulsing heart, would I be happier with my adopted city?
Since life is of finite quantity, we decided not to wait any longer to try and find out.
Though we made this decision carefully, considering it from all angles, now that what we hoped for is here I wonder: how do I say goodbye to my house? This is where I cooked meals for family and friends, where we kicked back and smoked sheesha into the late hours of the night lounging on floor cushions, eating far too many brownies, and contemplating the meaning of life [Though I think those sorts of moments are the meaning of life]. This is where I brought my son home from the hospital and watched him smile, laugh, crawl and take his first steps. That hill out back? It’s my hill. The walk-in closet? It’s mine.
But it’s not. Not for long anyways. Once we sign the papers, to so much as tiptoe without consent on the grass we laid down as sod with our own bare hands will [technically] constitute trespass. That’s weird to wrap my mind around. To want something, to be so thankful and joyful about it– and yet to feel tears of the sad sort spill down your face just the same.
Change is never easy for me, even when the change promises good things like a toddler park down the street, and a Pilates studio, co-op garden, weekly local farmer markets, coffee, the post office, library, cafes and book shops and well pretty much everything just steps away from my front door. And the neighbors? I heard they stop and say hello.
It’s what I’ve always wanted.
And while I feel a cornucopia of emotions– its mostly happy. Mostly hopeful.
We’re moving Sunday. Closing Monday.
And we’re downsizing from 2400 square feet to approximately 800.
Close quarters? Um. Yeah. Kind of.[More on that later]. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers [since nothing is certain until it is] as we inch closer to the end of an era stepping foot into what is entirely unknown but filled with glimmers of hope for goodness to come.