We have lived in this house for thirteen years now, longer than I have lived anyplace else. I have a lot of happy memories here: snuggling with the kids in bed on a Saturday morning, meeting the woman who would become my daughter-in-law for the first time, many family meals.
I love the Craftsman style details, the neighborhood, the central location.
This house is one of my 100 things. For now. But maybe what I feel for the house is not love, but deep affection, because I also see the house as an asset that I can sell to fund other needs and dreams.
When my daughter was having severe headaches with hearing loss and the MRI showed “brain spots” and I allowed my mind to go to a fearful place, I knew that I could sell the house and use the equity to fund time off work to care for her, if she needed surgery. [Not to worry, it turns out she was just allergic to church, or the chemicals that they used during a renovation. She still has “brain spots” but the neurosurgeon doesn’t know what they are.]
And now, when I let my dreams run free to a time when the nest is empty of children, I know that I do not want to spend my time taking care of this beautiful house that I am so fond of. I’m planning on selling it and using the money to fund a multi-year, cross-country trip.
But I do really, really like this house.