Confessions of a real estate cheater
You sell your house for a fair price and you`re happy, right? Not necessarily. I just sold mine and I`m in turmoil. The decision to sell was a reasonable thing to do. It`s a weekend place that wasn`t being used that much, but that doesn`t quite explain the situation. It was a real house, our real home, and we otherwise had a condo in the city. We also designed and built it six years ago, and created the garden which, finally, looked good this summer. We are emotionally connected to it, certainly more than the Toronto condo we sleep in more. It`s sensible to buy a bigger home in the city and align real estate with lifestyle. However, we all know that reasonable and real estate are not synonymous.
As the fateful final showing took place, I knew things were going right, or wrong, depending on the perspective. The new owners lingered and I had to circle the block a couple of times. They were serious. This caused me anxiety as I drove through the neighbourhood I`d known for 18 years -- past our first country house, past the friends who introduced us to the area, past a legion of wonderful neighbours. Every vista brought back a memory, overwrought, to be sure, but sincere. When I arrived home, I saw the note left by the agent: "Call me, we have an offer."
You sign the offer, but there`s an issue or two to be resolved. Nothing major, you`re assured by the agent. You go to bed and are sleepless. You worry the deal won`t happen, and then you hope it doesn`t because that means change. What to do with all your stuff, particularly all the things that were bought or made for the house? As you toss and turn, you ponder the tulip bulbs planted this fall that you`ll never see in bloom. Why did I think we could list a house and never worry about it selling? It was sort of a teenager`s idea of consequences being for old people. Unfortunately, my long-suffering partner took the brunt of my confusion. "You wanted to sell," he kindly reminds me.
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