The question of choice in the last two weeks has been: “Is it hard leaving all of this?” or “Are you sad letting go of all this?” or any sort of variation of those two questions. And well, I’m not sure what each person felt as I responded, “No actually! Not really! I’ll miss the fruit trees that gave us free food. I’ll miss the bathroom we renovated and never used. But other than that, I’m ready to let it go.”
I am. I’m not sure when I’ll post this, but tomorrow we sign the papers and the house is no longer ours. I’m not sure if my mood or sadness (or lack of) about the house will change. Maybe a wave of sadness will storm over me. But maybe not. But right now, I’m fine. Truly… I’m okay letting go.
And maybe it helps that this all happened so fast. Maybe it helps that we listed the house at the very beginning of a three week traveling trip, only to sell the house within two days. Coming home weeks later, into a forced-hustling-energy knowing we need to clear out our home of all personal things before the set closing date.
But maybe none of that matters– because between the hustle there has been plenty of downtimes to sit and reflect on this change. And in my downtime, thoughts of joy or sadness about the house never crossed my mind. I think this says something in itself. So really, maybe none of it made a difference. Maybe we were just ready.
This post feels repetitive to the post I last wrote– the one about Marlowe growing and changing. We’ve grown out of this house. And not in the sense that this was our “starter home” — the home where we start small before we can afford and eventually put more things into a larger space. We outgrew it in the sense that we learned that maybe we needed less to thrive. Fewer things to really live. Minimizing down doesn’t minimize life, it expands it. I’m ready to expand outside the many walls and too much space we lived in. The house was a perfect space for us for years. It grew with us and changed with us. It brought us safety, weathered the storms, gave us a space to grow our food, and watched Marlowe process milestone after milestone. And while there are things I will miss, I’m excited to see what will evolve.
Many of you guys know this, but when I walked into my would-be house for the very first time it was unlivable. Missing windows, no airconditioning, broken roof, a yard you couldn’t step out into, and more. It was a short sale and I was a single mom with a very tight wallet. But I looked at it as saw the instant potential. Walls to change, windows to fix, floors to re-do, a space to love and develop into my own. We loved that house and made it our home. It still has the same broken stained glass cabinets, the same funky shutter behind the couch, the quirky little kitchen from before, but it really looks so different than the place I stepped into. I’m not one to talk about my achievements or my positive traits– but if one thing is for certain, I live in a world of idealism. I’ve always been able to see something for what it is and what it could be. I can transform an ordinary space into a really beautiful space. I’m sure of this. I did it for every space I’ve ever lived in– and our home is no different.
I stepped into a once dull and brown space and made it a fun, beautiful, and comfortable home that we thrived in for years. And now we’re ready to go. We’re ready to move on outside the space. And the things we had to part with? Outside the physical structure of our home? Well, I’m working on letting go of the things that do not serve me. I’m working on the balance between want and need. I loved it all, I wanted it all, but I did not need it all. The tropical curtains that were hanging in my bedroom and then the dining room? Those were two pieces of fabric that I’ve owned the longest. Longer than my time with Alex. And all the way back into my college years. I still love them, but it has to be okay to let them go.
It has to be okay to let it all go.
I’m looking forward to still growing food somehow– maybe on a smaller scale on our tiny balcony (herbs at least, right?). But I also hope to use the resources of a family’s backyard and/or perhaps a community garden.. And hey, maybe I can convince the condo to put in some garden beds– maybe not, but one can dream?
I mentioned this– but I recently heard a quote stating the most selfless thing you can do in the world is plant a tree that you’ll never see the fruit from. These trees and our garden space is now our selfless act. Many of the trees we planted are now in the beginning stages of fruiting– blossoming now as I type. We won’t see the fruit from them. But someone else will. If not me, someone else will benefit. And I can live with that.
We didn’t plan for this part of life when we bought our condo. We knew it could be an option, but we always assumed we would own both– we could live in the condo and earn money from the house. But as life settled in, we became so undeniably comfortable with the idea of worrying about less.
And our end goal is still the same: buy land, protect it, grow food. One day. When we can afford it. But for now, we’re comfortable here. We’re working on enjoying the here and now while saving for the future.
Today is the closing day. We stopped by the house one last time before the meeting. I felt a slight tug when leaving the garden. Looking back at what it was and what it has become. But even still, the things I’ll miss are found in the memories I will continue to keep, not in physical things or space. It’s time to plant new seeds elsewhere.
Thanks for the sweet memories ohdearcasa.