G and I have recently been talking about moving.
I say recently, but I've been talking about moving to G since the first summer I experienced in the condo (I'm not saying it's bad here, but I am not meant to live in a city, and the Hill is the city).
These past few months, though, G's recently becoming a very active and willing participant in the conversations. We've had our real estate agent and his associate do a work up on our place and figure out our starting price, and if all goes well we hope to sell in January.
All going well looks like a few items, not the least of which is building up our savings. Quickly.
The plan right now is to move out for the beginning of January, do whatever repairs need doing (my dad has very generously offered his labour to help us!), have the condo professionally cleaned and staged, then put it on the market and sell it (the standard right now is to have it listed for only a week!).
In order to move out, we need to find a place to rent, get a damage deposit together, plan for a pet deposit, and then have money for the first and last month's worth of rent. Crazy, right? To say nothing of the actual cost of a moving crew and truck rental, renter's insurance, or any other related shenanigans.
Until today, I didn't feel entirely secure with this plan, even though I came up with most of it. The reason? It took me a long time to figure out, and it's not something I've ever had before.
Growing up, we moved a lot. The longest I ever went to any one school was five years -- a serious stretch of time for a girl so unrooted. And unrooted is my practice. I don't get attached. I move a lot. Homes are temporary and subject to instability, unreliability, and change. That's life.
Except, that hasn't been the case here.
Perhaps it is simply the difference between owning and renting. Until I came to live here in Corner Hill (yes, I named the condo, don't judge), I had only ever rented and lived in homes that were not my own. I didn't have autonomy of place and certainly never felt invested in any of them. I never settled. Why would I? They weren't mine.
But Corner Hill is mine. And it has been my stable, constant home for more than four years now, though it's been in my life for seven! That's a long time to have a place to call home. I've been able to paint the walls, make improvements, not fret when the dogs chip something... It's been home. And I don't know that I've actually had a home before this.
I wasn't feeling entirely good about our thoughtful and orchestrated plan and couldn't figure out why because I haven't been here before. I haven't been rooted to a specific home. I know my roots run long and deep on the Island, which is where I belong, but I don't have a home there (yet). My home is here, in this physical space. And I'm planning on leaving it.
Is it any wonder I feel odd? Ripping up these roots is not easy. I feel fear about moving, fear based in change. That couldn't be more wild to me.
More than that, I've had to face the fact that I'm still very sick. So while we may dream of owning a single-family home, what we should actually be looking at is a well maintained 1000+ square foot condo on an acreage. It's a good compromise, and opening our options to the condo market has actually excited both of us.
That said, I feel good about our plan today. Really good. Excited even. And not just because I've faced down my home dreams and now aim for another condo. I'm psyched because today we found the area we want to move to and it sings to me! We're going to have to do more research, but having a very concrete idea about our future direction is soothing, and I find I'm not ripping up my roots; they're already moving me.
Now we just need the money.