I’m in the process of deciding to sell the condo. Actually I’ve already made that decision; the only real question is timing. Do I put it on the market in January (smack in the middle of “the season”) and endure people tramping through while I’m here (I hate that), in late February or early March (the time of “the season” when those who have fallen in love with this town have begun their serious looking and bargain-hunting), or wait (and continue to incur monthly costs) until next fall when the market may or may not start to pick up again?
I plan to sell it furnished, but I’ll still have personal possessions (mostly artwork and books) to pack up and ship home. So I’m thinking maybe late February will be the right time. I have things to do that will keep me here until early March. Besides the half marathon and the architectural tours I’ve paid for, I still have to keep a promise to Kurt to scatter the other half of his ashes somewhere in the water off Newport Beach.
He tried unsuccessfully to make me promise to keep this condo for 10-15 years, as he was convinced that the market would recover and I’d eventually make a bundle. I’ve kept every other promise he asked me to keep (or pretty much will have, when I scatter the ashes). But I never agreed to keep this condo; I only agreed to try it for one season.
Well, I tried it. Almost a month into the experiment, I don’t think this is merely the December blues clouding my thinking. I believe I’ve made a genuine decision after deep thought about what is truly important to me. While I’ve appreciated the warm weather and waxed eloquent about architectural wonders, this is not where I want to be. I did not choose to be bi-platial; this was Kurt’s dream, not mine.
Selling the condo is going to buy me freedom. Freedom to put more money aside for the future or to choose to earn less now. Freedom to travel wherever I want to without feeling guilty over “wasting” the empty condo. Freedom from worrying that whichever house I’m not in is falling apart or being vandalized while I’m not there. I’ve realized that even one house is a lot for one person to take care of, and two is just too much.
I am not a migratory bird by nature. I want to be a tree and put down deep, enduring roots. I want to experience all four seasons even if it means that sometimes I’m housebound by snow and ice. I want to feel part of a community that thrives together through the good times and the bad.
I want to be at home: in my mind, in my body, in my dwelling place, with my friends, and in my community. I’ve learned in the past month how very important that sense of belonging to one another and to a place is to me. Life is short, and I don’t want to waste any more time being lonely and miserable.
Now I just have to figure out how to find my way back home… one step at a time.