I've been crying for what feels like months over the agonizing decision to sell my house. I've lived in many places, many apartments, and many houses in my short life (I'm 29), but this was the first place I've ever owned...and the first place that, truly, is woven into my soul.
I fell in love with it before it was even for sale. It's a 1907 Victorian in a town on the Ohio River. It has ALL of the original (unpainted!) woodwork, fireplace mantles/tiles, transom windows, pocket doors, plate rails, picture rails, butler's pantry, crown molding, etc. etc. I got it for an incredible price and over the last four years, I have filled it with my favorite things, my favorite people, and my favorite smells, music, and colors. The backyard was almost all concrete and gravel, but I busted my butt to turn it into an urban farm of sorts. Raised beds have allowed me to grow hundreds and hundreds of pounds of organic food for myself and my friends. An area of ground that was not rocky was turned into a circular medicinal herb garden. All of this was overseen by an ancient holly tree--the arborist who repaired it after a devastating ice storm told me it was the largest, most beautiful holly tree he'd ever seen.
I bought this house with high hopes that the surrounding neighborhood would improve, but things have only declined. The next door neighbors, in particular, have moved a ton of extra people in with them, and the noise level is definitely destroying my quality of life. I fell in love with a man who is a musician and needs a place to record, but there's so much ambient noise surrounding the house, there's no hope of getting a good take. There's also a good deal of crime in the area now. Everytime there's another drug bust or another gang fight in the street, I can't WAIT to move...but in the quiet moments...I'm overcome with sadness again.
In a total twist of fate and serendipity, I found out that a farmhouse about 8 miles outside of town is in foreclosure and practically being given away by the bank...it's a farmhouse I noticed on a drive several years ago and felt a very strong attraction to. Things are falling into place. Even in a terrible housing market, in a less-than-desirable neighborhood, I have several people clamoring for my home (and I haven't even put a sign in the yard). But...I'm incredibly depressed to leave this place. The farmhouse is amazing and I can finally realize my dream of having a market garden to produce specialty heirloom vegetables...but it also needs a ton of work to restore it to its former grandeur. I've spent a long time making my house in town my own, and I love it dearly--as does everyone else who walks through the door. It's a house that says "home." I think its spirit speaks to everyone in a way that so many houses DON'T.
I suppose I'll stop crying once the deal is done and I'm sweating over my new farmhouse...but it's definitely a very, very bittersweet parting, and while I'm excited about what lies ahead, I can't help but cry every time I think of the gorgeous fireplaces and other lovely details belonging to someone else.
Has anyone else ever felt so torn/depressed over selling and moving, even when the new situation could be the answer to a dream?? I might be selling my home to some very good friends of mine, but I'm not sure if that will make me feel better or worse. There's also still a lot up in the air. My offer on the farmhouse is contingent upon selling the house I'm in...and who knows...even though the farmhouse has been on the market for over a year, I fear someone might swoop in and take it from me. I'm so turned around and twisted up, I'm not even sure how I feel about ANYTHING anymore, but underneath it all...I feel in my gut like this is a chance for a great new beginning. I'm just. So. Sad.
And because you'll want to see it...I've attached a photo of the outside of the farmhouse.