Today we did it. We signed the document that says yes, in exchange for x amount of money minus y amount of concessions and repairs we will leave our home which we love and go somewhere else. We will allow it to be filled point forward by strangers whom we will probably never will meet.
In some cultures this would be a monumental, every-few-generation sort of event. In other circles, our sadness is hard to understand. We’re a little embarrassed about it, frankly. We like to think we are not so attached to our possessions and that our spirits have been longing for the freedom to roam.
But like most things, it’s not a simple choice. This is a beautiful place with space for gardens and the front porch on which I’ve now written five novels. Yes, we’d keep it if we could. That is, if we could without having to work so hard to keep it beautiful, and without continuing to work long days in a windowless office just to afford it. It has come to consume our resources of every kind, and we chose not to accept that. We choose a little house, with far less yard and fewer things that break, and we will cherish the time and the freedom that little house will bring.
Are we happy yet? Well, we are relieved that the deed is nearly done. The best I think we are going to manage tonight is “bittersweet.” That will be followed by a lot of hard work. I mean actually putting our furniture into a truck and driving cross country kind of work. Will we be happier for having done all this? We think so. We hope so. We’re going to find out.
For more about letting go of one’s old life and moving on, see my post “How full is too full?”