A Love Letter.

My Dearest House,

When we met six years ago, it was love at first sight and it was so unexpected. It was the first day my relator and I had met, and we were just going to various properties so she could get a sense of what I liked. You were the last stop on our day. I don’t remember everything about that first meeting, but I do know that, after seeing your zen-like backyard, and the beautiful open upstairs space, that I turned to my relator and asked, “So what do I do when I like a place?”

Views of the backyard over the years.

You played hard to get. I lost you twice. The sellers did not initially accept my offer. It was during the days when people wrote letters to houses—something I had no idea was a thing—and the sellers were doctors with young kids. The buyers they choose were doctors with young kids. I was a divorced woman with no children, trying to rebuild her life, which they didn’t necessarily know, but it still felt like a slap in the face. But after the initial inspection, those buyers got cold feet and walked away from you. I remember the late night phone call telling me that my offer was accepted. I jumped for joy and was so excited!

Then we had our own inspection, a time to get to know each other more intimately. And it was nothing personal, but I understood why the others had walked away. You were built in 1910 and no one had loved on you in all that time. There was still nob and tube wiring throughout you, and your frame was not meant to hold two finished floors, so you were starting to sink into the ground. As much as I loved you, at the price point, I couldn’t risk the financial burden. So I made a teary goodbye.

But the Universe (aka the sellers…), said, “Wait! Come back!” And we negotiated, and then I was able to have you and love on you. We replaced the visible nob and tube, reinforced your base so that you would stop sinking, and you and I were united.

Back in 2016, I was a year out of my fourteen year relationship. I had just come back from my second yoga retreat in Hawaii of the year, determined to “get my life back” to what it was before the divorce. In my mind, that meant own a house. It meant to have the stability and societal gold-star that owning a house reflects. When you own your own house, it is clear that you are an adult. That you’ve done things right. That you are a success.

But you have been so much more than that gold-star that I was seeking. You have been my sanctuary these last six years. As lovers and a second-husband came and gone, you have stayed. You held me on so many drunken nights and hung over mornings. You held me through my early sobriety as I wandered through your rooms not knowing what to do with myself, but knowing I should not drink. You have been so patient with my dogs, first with Zuki, who joined us in September of our first year together, as she scratched at your doors to make me open them, scratched up the counters trying to get at all the food, and strewn garbage all over the kitchen floors looking for goodies to eat. Then with George, the pandemic puppy, through potty training—pee and shit everywhere!!—and now through both the dogs playing on your original wood floors.

From when I first brought each of them home, to all the shenanigans over the years.

We spent more time together these last two years than ever before. I finally allowed myself to expand into all three of the bedrooms, acknowledging that I would not live in this house with anyone else again, and that I needed to stop waiting for that day. Throughout the first year of the pandemic, I moved my office into each room, testing out what worked best, and then ended up back where we started. You have held me as I cried, screamed, danced, laughed, and stood still, not knowing what to do next.

Please know, that as we say goodbye, it’s not because I do not love you. I love you so much, and I am so grateful for all we have shared. But it is time for me to move on. To admit that you are too big for just me, and if I ever do live with someone again, I want to build that home together. I am selfish, and do not want to share you with anyone else while you are mine. It is time for me to explore this country and its lands. To live simply. It is time for me to let go of what I think society expects of me and let go of what culture tells me is a mark of success, and go live my life as I understand that the Universe wants me to.

Evolution of the rooms over the years.

And your last gift to me? The financial freedom to make this dream happen. Who knew when I bought you six years ago that the housing market would be batshit crazy and I would be able reap such benefits from you. As I struggle with the religion of capitalism and wealth, it feels a little gross to be benefitting from it all, but/and I am so grateful. You have been such a blessing to me, and this is just one more way.

I love you. Thank you for holding and supporting me. I will relish our remaining time together, and know that when I drive away at the end of April, we were together for the exactly right amount of time for both of us.

With all my heart and gratitude,

Sarah