Before and after

By now you know I sold my house and moved. What you may not know is that I sold my house to a dear friend of mine and that guy she married.*

I adore them, of course, and I am so very happy to see them happy.

Of course, we're all friends on Facebook, Twitter, and I'm not sure where else. I see the pictures and status updates, and comments from their friends and family, as they post about their renovation efforts. I even helped them move some stuff into the house (though I stopped short of carrying boxes of hardwood flooring).

The other day, a mutual friend asked how I was handling that - seeing a complete dismantle of the house I called home for so long. Even X asked how I would ever be able to go back, and see how the work and memories I made have been changed.

I'll admit - at first it was strange. It felt weird, seeing pictures of my house on someone else's timeline, labeled "before." I thought back to when X and I moved in, and took the same photos (in the BF - Before Facebook - era). Except, we called them "after."

But the truth is - the house hadn't been my "home" for a long time. I bought it as one half of a couple, many years ago. The projects and renovations we did were done as a team. Sure, I bought the house after the divorce, and it was mine. Yes, I continued to make memories - Chrissy and her kids lived there for a while, there were parties and house guests and little changes.

But the house was never what I imagined back in 2003, when I was full of ideas and hope for what we could make of it. That all stopped the day X left. That was the day the house stopped being my home.

There is an episode of How I Met Your Mother in which Ted gives up his long-time apartment. In the letter he writes to his friends, he says he thought the apartment had been haunted by memories of a love he lost, but he finally realized that it was really haunted by him. He had stopped living and was standing still in time, and the apartment was keeping him from moving on.

At some point, the house did the same for me. It allowed me to stay stuck in a place where I didn't have to deal with the reality that my life is different - and it was time to move on. The house was my excuse, my refuge from the scariest thing we all face now and then.

Change.

The truth is, home is a fluid concept. When we're young, it's with our parents. At some point, it becomes that first apartment where we spread our wings for the first time. Eventually, if we're lucky, it becomes that house we buy right when we think we're settling down.

It'd be nice if that was the last home for everyone. For some, it will be, and I think that's simply wonderful.

For me, home has changed again. I'm grateful that I owned a house, and saw some of those hopes and dreams come true.

I'm also grateful that I was able to own the home on my own for a bit, that it was there to help my friends when needed, and to shelter me while I healed.

Now I'm grateful it will be there for someone else's hopes and dreams - and I actually feel quite honored I'll get to witness those dreams come true.

After years of haunting, I'm finally finding my new home - and my after has become someone else's before.

*Make sure to visit their sites for pictures of the renovations and other musings on life, and home ownership.

Mission accomplished

The past couple of months have been a whirlwind of change for me.

At the end of March I accepted a position with a new company, ending a nearly-14 year career. I still work in insurance, but on the other side of the wall.

That change was a big deal. I had to give up the perks that came with seniority and job security. I have to learn a lot, being back on the receiving end of training after so many years of being the "expert."

I couldn't be happier.

I've known for a long time I wanted the change - but finding an opportunity that made sense wasn't easy. Where I've landed seems to be a good fit. Still - it's tough to leave a job where you didn't have to think, and take on something new where every click requires a thought.

About a month after the first day on my new job, I moved into an apartment. A week later - I closed on my house. No big deal, right? I've talked about selling for years, and I knew I wanted to leave home ownership life.

But I'd lived in that house for eleven years. I only lived in my childhood home (which was an apartment) for thirteen years - so this house was my home. It held all of my memories (good and bad) and packing that up (or in most cases, throwing it away) was tough. Few things in life are more emotional than seeing your entire adult life bagged up and left to wait for garbage day.

But it was time. For years I have promised myself that I would not turn 40 with the same job or home address.

I turn 40 in 48 days.

Mission accomplished.

Moving up

I'll admit - I was surprised by the overwhelming emotion I felt (both the amount and variety), making my move from homeowner back to apartment renter. I haven't written about it because I'm still not quite sure what I want to say.

But, here's something I know....

Today is the sort of day I am very happy not to own a house, or any of the work or responsibility one brings.

Moment of clarity

I was born in 1974...which means later this year, I celebrate the 11th anniversary of my 29th birthday.

I have never been OK with getting older. Well - not since I turned 18, anyway. I wanted to vote, so that birthday was pretty cool. I don't drink, and never have, so turning 21 wasn't especially exciting, except that maybe it made me eligible for more giveaways. Pretty much since 1995, I've been OK not discussing the number of candles on my cake.

My issue hasn't been related to health or signs of aging. My issue has always been that my life is never where I expected it would be when I reached a certain age. So, confronting the age meant confronting my (perceived) failures.

Turning 35 was the worst. It was the first birthday I celebrated after my marriage ended. I was single, struggling, in a job I didn't really enjoy, and just plain unhappy. Eventually, I came to embrace those "failures" and even used them as a jumping off point for this blog. I learned that while it may not be the life I ordered, it's the one I'm meant to have. 

I've been dreading turning 40 for as long as I can remember. It just sounds so....final. The thing is, I have learned from my friends who crossed that threshold before me that 40 isn't nearly the end of anything. In fact, for many, it's actually the beginning...of a happy, fulfilling, joyful life. 

I have been quite stressed out lately, at the prospect of selling my home. Not because I don't want to sell

(because I do), but at the prospect of dealing with all of that change. I've lived in this home for 10+ years. Selling means giving up a part of who I am. It also means starting over, which is not something I ever thought I'd be doing at 40.

Add to this a little stress about my job potentially moving. Not far - but far enough to make me (momentarily) reconsider where I'd look for my new home. It was causing a lot of worry and grief and a few, "It's just not fair!" moments.

Why am I the one who has to change? Why does it have to be difficult for me? 

Then, out of nowhere, I had a true moment of clarity. It occurred to me that I have been unhappy about a few things in my life for a little too long. Apparently, this is the year those things are going to change. Sometimes life does that - shakes things up just enough to trigger a much-needed change.

That's scary. But in that moment when I decided to just accept that things are going to change, I also realized - it's exciting as hell.

I suspect that 2014 will not be an easy year for me. 

But I suspect it will all be absolutely worth it.

Lost fish

The thing about living in my house, is you never know what might happen. When it's just me, things are relatively calm (though there was that time Joe took a flying leap into the lamp shade chasing a moth), but when the housemate and/or kids are home - all bets are off.

So it wasn't shocking to me last night when I heard glass clanging downstairs, and then my housemate muttering, "How does this happen?" and "Seriously?!"

Then from the bottom of the stairs, I hear, "I lost a fish."

Now - of all the things I thought might have happened...that wasn't one of them.

Obviously, I wasn't going to let this moment pass me by, so I went downstairs to hear more.

Turns out, Chrissy had the fish bowl on the sink for cleaning, and the lone fishy in a small container filled with water. The container was shallow and uncovered - and the fish, which had been swimming happily just a few minutes before - was nowhere to be found.

"I shouldn't be allowed to be in charge of living things." Keep in mind, she's the parent in this scenario. She'd already searched the whole bathroom, but we looked again to be sure. She shook out the small rug, moved the trash can, and we moved all the items on the sink.

Maybe he'll make a friend once he gets to the ocean.

No fish.

The only explanation that made any sense is the fish jumped out of the bowl (Which has happened to me before - well, not me, technically. It happened to X, and I just happened to be the first one to notice.).

But even still, we should have found him. So, we've concluded that he must have jumped from the bowl to the sink, and washed down the drain (the water was running). Which works out, because that way he'll just end up washing out to the ocean, where he can play with other fish.

At least, as I understand it, that is what the kids will be told.