I’ve been thinking quite a lot about how my life is going to change after my partner of the last twelve years moves out. First let me say that the two of us are getting along better than ever. The air has been cleared of any tension and resentments that may have built up over the years. There are no hard feelings and nobody is angry. We’re talking about our future plans and getting advice from each other just as we always have.
The love, support, and encouragement from my many friends has made a difference. Your comments about my positive attitude help me stay committed to it. I have moments when I immerse myself in a life where “Falling to Pieces” is the theme song. But those moments are increasingly rare as I turn my focus to a new future.
Uncertainty always bugs me. I like stability. Routine. Predictable patterns. So the coming changes have caused me to worry and wonder about quite a few things. Nearly all my worries revolve around my ability to take care of the house I’ve lived in for the last fifteen years. Don’t get me wrong, I love this house. But it’s a lot more than I need and the one-acre lot is more than I can handle. The idea of having to take care of it by myself is just overwhelming.
I can afford to live in it by myself as far as the money goes. Just. With a little belt-tigthening. But the time demands are more than I can afford. So I’m going to sell it. I re-financed right before the bust and rolled a home equity loan into my mortgage. I sat down with a realtor yesterday to run the numbers. It’s going to cost me to sell, but the price is something I can afford and worth the peace of mind that comes with getting out from under more responsibility than I want, need, or can afford.
My idea of a the perfect house has changed. I’m visualizing a little house with a kitchen/dining room/living room open floor plan on one side and two, maybe three bedrooms on the other with two bathrooms, a garage, and a tiny little fenced in yard–about an eighth of an acre or so. I’m not interested in any fixer-uppers, thank you very much. I don’t mind painting and cleaning–if I must–but more than that is more than I want to take on.
There ain’t gonna be no dump-this-in-a-box-and-deal-with-it-later stuff. As God is my witness, I’m not bringing a single paper clip, serving dish, or coat hanger into my new house that doesn’t have a reason to be there and a place where it belongs. My drawers and closets are going to be so beautifully organized that you’ll be envious of the pictures of them I post on Facebook. And there will be pictures. I promise.
I’m really excited about a tiny little yard. Big and sprawling has been fun…not. Give me a little grass, a few flower beds, and a sunny spot to grow some vegetables in a neighborhood where deer are rarely seen and I’ll be one very happy camper. Gardening could be fun again if it didn’t take every available minute to keep it weeded, watered, and tidied up.
My former other half is buying his own place, too. A condo. He’s not a yard person. He’s staying here in the house with me until he finds a place and closes. He’s helping me get the house ready to sell and feels much better about moving out knowing I’m not going to be saddled with more than I can manage.
I have to admit that I really thought being a grown-up about this was going to be hard. Spinning things as positively as possible prevented me from wallowing in self-pity. I never expected the spin to become my reality, but it has.
Instead of worrying about the future, I’m excited. The idea of being alone doesn’t frighten me like it has in the past. Will I ever love again? I don’t know, and for once, I can honestly say that’s not on the list of things I worry about here in…
My Glass House