Tuesday, July 16, 2013

A letter to my 2004 self.

Holly,

As you stand in front of the dilapidated old home that you have fallen instantly in love with, there are some things you should know.  First of all, it really is a great house.  The potential that you see, through the shabby, old, bare gray siding is truly there.  The house is as amazing and modestly elegant as you knew it would be.  It is truly a wonderful home, and you will love it.  You already do.

However, as you and Jeff complete the incredibly difficult and painstaking work that lies ahead, it would help you, in the long run, to focus on the less obvious reasons for all of your effort.  Instead of believing in imaginary figments like "sweat equity", or equity at all for that matter, ask yourself if the work itself, the learning, the example you set for your boys, the gift of life that you will give to the house itself, is enough.  Maybe thinking of it as a fitness routine would even help. 

Holly,

if you go through this process with the idea that something will come of it other than these intangible benefits, you will be setting yourself up for disappointment.  As you stand there, chubby twins on your hips, you cannot know the changes that lie ahead.  Although you fought long and hard for those two boys, your family will grow more than you can imagine.  There are unforeseen injustices (yes, more of them), as well as incredible joys, ahead. By believing that your work here will "pay off", you would plug through the renovation.  

The economy has other plans.

If you do not focus on the alternative reasons for your effort, you will be left feeling lost.  You will leave this beautiful house with nothing more than a printed blog that hurts too bad to pull from the shelf.  You will not take anything from this work to help you to create a new home for your family... other than knowledge, memories, and the habit and lifestyle of hard work.  Maybe that is enough.

If possible, try not to love this house too much.  Try not to put so much of yourself into the decisions.  They are not nearly as important as you think they are.  The closet that you wait so long to use will not be full of your own clothes.  You will not be the one plugging the vacuum cleaner into those outlet covers that you searched around to find.  You will never see that master bath.  These things would be easier if you did not make these decisions, or complete this work, thinking otherwise.

It's not your fault.  The downspin of the market will hurt a lot of people... many in ways that don't come close to your situation.  Try to prepare yourself to not feel defeated, or exhausted, or crushed.  By thinking that your hard work as a financial investment, you will leave yourself emotionally ill-prepared for your next monumental journey.






Holly,


Please try to cut those heart strings that are so firmly tied to this house early on... when the first move is made.  You would have no way of knowing it, but if you do not, you will grieve this house four separate times.  The first will be when you think you are losing it all through an injustice that you could not foresee, the second will be when you believe it has sold and move out, the third will be when that falls through and you have to go back and do it again. And then, it will happen one last time.  You love this house too much.  Maybe you just cannot accept leaving the comfort, the pretty paint, the beauty of the rugs and chairs and curtains.  The comfortable home you made yours... that finally required no explanation or excuses to visitors.

Now, decide.  Given these things, is it worth it?  


Holly of 2013 is having a hard time swallowing that it was.

What helps is hearing the voices of excited, young, newlyweds from the next room... standing in front of that gorgeous mantle and that marble tiled fireplace that Jeff cut by hand, talking about how they can't wait to move in.  What helps is hearing them explain to their realtor that she was right... they would find the one house that was perfect for them.

Your family is not a house.  

Pace yourself.

The disheveled old house in front of you is only one leg in the journey.




No comments: