Have you ever made a decision that seemed to conflict with something else that also felt right? Get ready for a big announcement for some of you: my husband and I have decided to sell our “forever home” and downsize. We’re in our early forties, so this seems a bit premature, but there is some solid reasoning behind it. We live apart because we work in cities hours apart. We bought a two-story house with thousands of square feet to live in together and maybe have kids. Neither of those things is happening. My commute, which was about half an hour when we moved here, is now much closer to an hour. I can’t keep this house clean by myself and most of the yard work falls to my husband on weekends. We spend all week apart to come together on weekends to do chores, basically. And maybe “that’s life”, but we’ve decided it’s not the life we choose – not even for this “forever home” paradise – because it’s not one we get to enjoy frequently or long enough. I spend most of my weeknights battling traffic to get home after several errands to make dinner in a hangry state to eat by 8pm to get to bed by 10pm and do whatever else I need to do in those couple of hours, which includes talking to my husband while I move around the house and irritate him with the sound of trash/recycling cans, dishes, laundry, feeding cats, making dinner, and so on. Or else I take myself out to dinner, relax, and lament the cost and calories.
What prompted our discussion/decision was driving by a rezoning notice in an empty pasture one weekend and realizing that even more apartments were coming between me and my job. We’ve already endured more housing, some outlets, some businesses . . . it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Pete asked if I would consider moving closer to uptown and I said I would. My answer surprised even me. Owning a house like this, and a yard like this, has always been my dream. My first house was over 1,000 sq. ft. on half an acre in Monroe, NC. And again, I drove an hour to/from the office and spent two hours push-mowing the darned yard. I was intimidated by riding lawn mowers, although Dad rightly said that yard deserved one.
For me, this move is a pretty big decision, even as I declared that I wasn’t incredibly attached to our house (wrong). I attach to EVERY place. I’m pretty sure I could go to prison and make fond memories of my cell. I suppose this is good, that I make the best of every place I go, because right now I am having a hard time swallowing the reality of losing 1,000 or more square feet in this move. Pete says he can do without stuff and he means it. I say I can do without stuff and I replace the stuff I let go of with more stuff. People know this about me: I like stuff. I keep things, reuse things, wait to find a use for things, like to buy things in bulk . . . none of this seems to be jiving with my soon-to-be small-space living. I fear I will have to own one roll of toilet paper at a time. One kind of shampoo. One bottle of Bath & Body Works lotion. This is like the end times!
There is some peace in letting go of things. Some of the clutter I create causes me anxiety. But not having room for the things I want to keep also causes me anxiety.
Sitting in traffic also raises my blood pressure and causes wear-and-tear on my car. There are trade-offs.
I also worry about my cats, who have such a lovely life right now with their cat door. They come and go all day and night as they please. Ditto brought me a shrew just this morning. How will he do in an apartment? Will he hate me, being confined indoors? He’s getting older, so maybe not. But he has a REALLY GOOD LIFE right now and I feel awful making this decision for him. (I am focused on Ditto because if I go to an apartment, Julius is going to live at the farm, God bless Jenny. I will pay for every single thing he needs, but that cat is NEVER going to make it “on the inside”, nor will I survive living with him on the inside.) My dad would not understand my concern for these animals. Here’s another sore spot if I rent an apartment (versus a condo or town home from an individual): they charge “pet rent” now. How do you like that? There’s the non-refundable pet fee because, let’s face it, pets aren’t nice to things (come see the living room couch we’ll be putting at the curb if you don’t believe me), and then there’s pet rent for . . . what? I’ve seen dog spas and dog parks at these apartments, but nothing for cats. Let me know what Ditto gets out of this. Will someone be coming to scoop his litter box daily? I guess collecting his poop when I set it outside my door counts. (Valet trash pickup is also a thing now.)
I assume this is hard for Pete, too, and I think he’s said as much. But maybe because he’s a man, or maybe because he isn’t one chromosome away from a hoarder, or maybe because he just isn’t ME, I don’t think he spends every day wading in and out of a variety of emotions. My Lord, it really is exhausting. Everything gained means something lost. But I truly am optimistic and think Pete and I are making the right choice for us. Give me a couple of weeks of short drives (or walks) to work and less house keep, some nice weekends when we don’t have any yard work to do and all Ditto looks for is a nice sunbeam to lie in and he doesn’t wake us up bringing us snakes, birds, rodents, and insects, and you might see us on an uptown living brochure somewhere.
You’ll also see us visiting our neighbors that we’re going to miss terribly – because again, everything gained is something lost.
Stay tuned.