Some steps are bigger than others
I’m in the process of finalizing a real estate listing for my condo. Somewhere in the middle of putting my initials on a bazillion pieces of paper, I fully internalized the idea that this is ME selling MY condo. I’m no longer the second person, signing the forms in the second position after Kurt. I’m the person who is empowered and in control of this decision.
The walls are no longer screaming at me. While I don’t believe in “signs” from the departed, I have become comfortable with the idea that Kurt would have wanted me to do the right thing for ME, and that even he would agree (albeit reluctantly) that selling the condo is the right thing to do. I kept my promise to him and gave this bi-platial thing a try. I’m now completely certain that it’s not working for me, and that it’s time to come home.
My agent (the same person who represented us when we bought this condo three years ago) is surprisingly optimistic even given the ongoing dismal market conditions. We’ll see. I’m confortable with the idea that it may take a little while.
DOUG: This paragraph is for you. Yes, I know you told me to wait for a year. As I’ve written here before, when you consider the full arc of my grief including pre-grief for my terminally ill husband, I’ve had considerably more than a year to think about this.
So tonight, I’m excited and optimistic about the future. I ran 5 miles this morning and it was as easy as breathing again. For the next week and a half, I plan on relaxing, letting go of stress, and storing up energy for what I hope will be a really fun half marathon romp past several world-reknowned icons of mid-century modern architecture. The other day I ran past Frank Sinatra’s old house, which is on the race route. There was a film crew there setting up or tearing down (I can never tell which), and they all smiled and waved at me as I went by. I won’t deny that this place has its charms…