No To The House

I found the perfect house. I found the perfect house, bid on it, and now I'm saying no to the perfect house. It was a hard decision and I'm terrified I made the wrong choice.

The house was beautiful. It had recessed lighting throughout, it was freshly painted sophisticated colors and it was tastefully staged so I could imagine how to make the most of the spaces. There were four bedrooms, a separate family room, and it was on a wonderful tree-lined street in a cute neighborhood. All this and it was (barely) in my price range! It was perfect--except. Except Tico moved out. Don't I have enough going on without the added stress of buying a house and moving?

This week was a doozy. Telling my family that Tico moved out was exhausting and painful. Ultimately I feel relief for being honest, but every day has felt like a marathon. In one conversation with my mom, she suggested I listen to my gut on what to do about the house. The rare unbiased advice from mom felt loving and I did a few guided meditations on listening to my intuition. The second meditation came to me with the next step: Tell Bill.

Bill is my real estate agent. He is a 70-something military retiree who has all the fatherly mannerisms of my dad. He backs into parking spots, signs his name on text messages "Bill", and has talked me out of houses that aren't exactly what I want on a few occasions. For whatever reason, I was terrified to tell Bill that Tico had moved out. I guess I didn’t want to bring drama into his role or overshare my personal life. Maybe I was ashamed of having a second marriage ending.

Bill was a gentleman, as anyone who knows him would have predicted. He listened while I poured out my dilemma and stayed quiet while I cried in fear that this was my only shot at the perfect house. He was so quiet, in fact, that I checked to see if we were still connected.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Wow, she trained you well, Bill”

“Yes, I’ve been trained very well. And I know your chromosomes need to talk through the problem so you can figure out what you want to do. We Y chromosomes like to come up with a solution but I will listen while so you can pick through this.”

The next day, prior to the final decision if I would make a final bid on the house, I did another intuitive meditation and the answer that came was: It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter?!?! How could it not matter? My feelings went to confusion (what does that mean? what should I do? can you just give me an answer, already?) to peace (it doesn’t matter, so I can do either and will have equally wonderful outcomes) to relief. If it doesn’t matter then I don’t have to do this right now. I can do this later and I won’t miss my chance at a perfect house. So I retracted my bid.

Today I’m having extreme non-buyers regret. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m devastated at the thought of not buying the perfect house. I keep thinking of the house and how nothing will be as beautiful or perfect.

It is easier to process losing the house than it is to lose my marriage. It is more palatable to think about a sadness that will end in a few days than to think about a broken promise of a lifetime.