Every House Has a Story

Met with the real estate agent this evening. Mrs. Wit, he and I sat and decided what price we will ask. We made a checklist of things we need to do before we put it on the market. He doesn't know we're getting divorced. We told him we want to buy a condo closer into town. We want to be closer to work and we're sick of maintaining a yard, we said. These things are true, but we just don't want our marriage to be part of the story of our house.

Every house for sale has a narrative, you know. It's the story that real estate agents tell each other - confidentially, and they tell their clients - confidentially. For example, the story associated with one house we bought was that the seller was sick, needed money to go into assisted living and the incompetent daughter was acting as agent. That story screamed "low-ball me." Likewise, a divorce narrative always invites low offers. Buyers think the spouses hate each other and can't wait to split.

The best back story to have is that you are looking to move to a different part of town, but have not bought a place yet and you are willing to wait for the right price. That's our story and we're sticking to it.

It's a good feeling to know that we're taking the steps needed to move on with our lives, but it is also a little scary. I have never lived alone. Never. Odd thing for a 45-year-old man. I am looking forward to having a place to myself, but still have the occasional flash of future Bugwit huddled in the corner of a bare, roach-infested apartment, newspapers stacked to the ceiling. I see myself writing angry letters to the government about how the police helicopters that fly over at night are x-raying my brain and stealing my thoughts.

And that's just the first year alone. It gets worse from there.

But other times, I picture myself having the pepsi-commercial single life, laughing my weekends away with white-water rafting, sky-diving and throwing community barbeques with beautiful, scantily clad neighbors.

And that's just during daylight. It gets better from there.

I suppose that the truth will be somewhere between the pitiful loner and the debauched bachelor and I can determine the mix if I choose to. It's the thought that now my social life will require effort, planning, consideration, compromise and unpredictability that gives me a nervous stomach.

But I am even more bothered by the thought of resigning myself to my current life for the rest of my days - taking no chances, seeing nothing new, never learning or growing. That is a life not worth living.

That's not the narrative that I want for my life. I won't go for cheap.