The whole process of house hunting, which admittedly began as something of a lark because I wanted more room for art on my walls, has ended up being quite an experience. Personally, I have never disliked renting. Yes, I'm paying someone else's equity; I get that. Yes, I have been forced to move house because of my building being sold. Yes, I've had crazy - and I mean
crazy - landlords. I've also never had to fix my own roof, replace my own furnace or appliances, do my own maintenance, or any of the like. I've been allowed to paint, to personalise and to garden. As far as I'm concerned, this has amounted to a good deal for me. It also suited my somewhat transient lifestyle. I take risks and move across the country, take new jobs in new cities, and use travel (and moving) as a way to escape life's problems. I'm not good at settling down.
On Friday, we put in an offer on a house and it was accepted. I had a minor fit in the car while we waited for the realtors to finish their negotiations. Glenn got concerned because I stopped communicating. Words became noises and when he asked me if I was okay, all I could answer with was, "I love you." As sentiments go, it's a nice one, but not really an answer to the question. I imagine what I experienced was something not unlike the feelings people have when they get married. It was a sudden, horrifying realisation that I was doing something big - really big - and making a major life commitment. I was also making a very clear commitment to Glenn and our lives together. When words finally returned to me, I called my mom. First things first, after all. Then I said to Glenn, "How anyone could think an engagement ring is a bigger symbol of commitment than buying a house together is nuts. You can skip the engagement ring and go straight to wedding ring, okay? We just bought a house."
Suddenly, I'm settling down.
The house is not in the neighbourhood we were hoping to move in to, but after viewing something like twenty homes, it became evident that with the money we were able to spend, we wouldn't be getting what we wanted unless we looked further afield. I won't be able to walk to work, but on nice days I'll be able to ride my bicycle. We're literally three houses south of a park on a dead-end street. We have what is very likely one of the largest homes in the neighbourhood, with plenty of room for me to have an office, Glenn to have a practice space, while still having a guest bedroom and room for kids. The house dates from 1906 and has the structural trappings of the period - high ceilings, hardwood - but at some point the original mouldings and details were removed. While this is a bit sad, it allows for Glenn and I to put a very personal mark on what amounts to a very blank canvas. We're already having a conversation about whether we need a formal dining room, or whether it would be better to have an adaptable, funky and elegant, multi-purpose living/eating space for entertaining. The back yard is also a blank canvas. It is wide, long and stunningly boring. We'll start planning its landscaping in the winter.
Of course, this is all contingent on the house passing its home inspection. I suspect it will, but you can never be too sure and there's no way we'd waive an inspection. The closing won't occur until the beginning of January, which will give us a bit of time to address the terrible carpets that need pulling out and some of the more agregious paint colours. Otherwise, it's mostly in move-in condition. I admit that I'm pretty excited by the large, blank art-ready walls and many more spaces that will need decorating.
I hadn't realised my desire to nest was this strong. Is this also part of settling down? Maybe.
