We showed our house tonight. Which is a little odd, because it’s not really on the market.
Long story, short: While chatting with our neighbor last week, Esteban and I casually mentioned that we’re thinking of moving.
We both have great jobs, and most of our friends live here. But we can’t stand the six months of finger-numbing, snot-producing, shiver-inducing hell we call “winter.”
Just as casually, our neighbor said he’d consider buying our house. “Seriously?” Esteban asked. We turned to each other and grinned.
So we invited Matt over for a tour. He didn’t seem to mind the unfinished second story, with its roughed-in plumbing and exposed studs. He liked the layout and the woodwork.
“Have you thought about how much you’d want?” he asked. It hadn’t crossed our minds. “Well, mull it over,” he said, “and let me know. I’m really interested in buying, if you’re ready to sell.”
We chatted about timing. Could we be out in two months? My mind was reeling.
“I don’t know if I’m ready yet,” I told Esteban later. I like my job, and I’d really miss my friends. “So we’ll rent a condo for a year or two,” he answered.
On one hand, it would be a relief to sell our home. Esteban and I are weary of the constant maintenance that comes with an older house. Plus, we’ve lost all interest in gardening — and it shows.
But on the other hand, it would be sad to leave the home we’ve shared for 20 years. It holds so many happy memories. And so much stuff.
After an hour’s reflection, I’ve decided that there’s no wrong answer. If we agree on a price, maybe it’s time to sell. And if we can’t work out a deal, I’ll be happy to stay.
For a little while longer, anyway.