Walking the Rightsizing Walk – PART 2: House Hunt

Now that my husband, DC, and I had sold the Happier Yellow House to the first buyer who saw it, we were quite suddenly, technically, homeless. Yeep! My head was literally spinning. I need to sit down often and put my head between my knees.

What had we done? We had accepted a handsome all-cash, full-price offer, I kept reminding myself. But still! Because the big idea behind this self-imposed upheaval was to decrease our overhead (but not our lifestyle) as we slide toward retirement, we asked our broker to show us gentle fixers that cost no more than 75% of the price of the home we were selling. Otherwise, what was the point?

We knew we’d have to make sacrifices, but we had a must-have list: DC wants a man cave, which our current home lacks, a retreat where he can work on his creative projects, which he plans to do more in retirement. I still need a home office. We want at least two guest rooms for our growing blended family, which now includes five adult children, their four spouses, and seven grandchildren. We want a yard for our two dogs, an updated kitchen, and inviting curb appeal. (Some houses actually look like fortresses, their arms crossed to fend off intruders.) Oh, and I want to stay in the area, near my friends.

We looked. We panicked. We crossed off houses that were too cramped, too run down, too modern. We eliminated those that didn’t have enough natural light or were on busy streets. Vibe mattered. One house was so chic and chilly, I felt like I would need to wear a black cocktail dress and stilettos and lose 10 pounds just to fit in. One house I loved, but it didn’t have a fireplace, and no easy place to install one. Not everyone feels this way, but I believe a home needs a hearth.

I lost sleep. I would bolt awake at 4 a.m. with a racing heart, shake a soundly sleeping DC and say, “Stop the car! Someone is steeling our house!” The unknowns were many and scary. We knew a house was out there, but to find it we needed the persistence of a spawning salmon, the grace of Mahatma Gandhi, and a heavy dose of divine intervention. We looked at a dozen houses in person, dozens more online.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Time was going by. We had to be out in 45 days.

Then I saw her. Set back on a quiet street, she had a deep front porch with a bench swing, inside a spacious living room with high ceilings, an office, dining room, and sunny breakfast area, a newly updated kitchen, four bedrooms on the first floor, a bonus room over the garage, which DC claimed as his mancave, and a wood-burning fireplace. Just three miles from our current house, she was still near dear friends. Because she needed some cosmetic improvements, she had languished on the market for almost three months. This was my kind of house.

Oh, and she was yellow.

Like the Happier Yellow House when we bought it, this house had great bones but a bland interior. In my head, I began installing wood floors and window treatments, painting walls, updating light fixtures and guest baths, and redoing the landscaping to make the most of the small yard — all projects I took on at the Happier Yellow House, so nothing I couldn’t handle. I finally began sleeping at night, but as I drifted off, I would play furniture checkers, arranging pieces in the new home. The hutch on this wall, no! On this wall, the sofa on that wall, and so on.

Once our house passed its home inspection to the buyer’s satisfaction, and we felt confident the sale would go through, we made our move. We offer a price reflecting the work the house would need. The sellers accepted. And the great house shuffle began.

Was I out of my comfort zone? Yes, way out. But whenever I started hyperventilating, I focused on the why:

·      A better fit. A rightsized home is one that is the perfect physical, emotional, social and financial fit for your life today and going forward. For us, this new home fits the bill. While we didn’t “downsize” in the sense of getting less house (the new house is actually slightly larger), we have less yard to maintain and no mortgage. Also, except for DC’s upstairs man cave, which I’d rather not see, all the rooms are on one level, which my knees will appreciate years from now. The house is still close to friends and the shops and restaurants we frequent.

·      The financial upside. When this all shakes out, we will have no mortgage on either this house or on our beach condo getaway. With its mortgage paid off, the condo might actually start paying for itself through rentals.

·      A chance to clean house. Call me odd, but I am looking forward to sorting through everything I own, winnowing my household down to what I need, use and love, and donating, selling or tossing the rest. I crave the idea of less. Someday, our kids will thank us.

·      The fun part. I get a new decorating project. The Happiest Yellow House is a blank canvas.

·      The character building. None of this means my stomach isn’t roiling. But as I have often told my kids — and myself — when making a difficult change, whether for a job, a relationship or a move, once you’ve made up your mind in a rational moment of strength, don’t change it in a fearful moment of weakness. When you know it’s right, stay the course.

CAPTION: Moving is a great time to purge, but you need to get tough. Illustration courtesy of Kelly Kamowski.

Marni Jameson is the award-winning author of seven books, including “Rightsize Today for Your Best Life Tomorrow.” If you have questions about home improvement, better living, downsizing or rightsizing, send them to marni@marnijameson.com.