The story of the house that never was
I think about it often (nearly every day) so I finally decided to put pen to paper (err, finger to keyboard) about the house that never was. Spoiler alert: this is the story of a lost love.
Before moving in with Adam in November of 2016, I was looking to buy a home myself. I felt like I had prepared a long time for this moment; here I am, I’m an adult now! I have a realtor! I search houses on the internet! Wow, this will cost a lot! But it turns out that being particular and finding a house to buy in a seller’s market isn’t an easy feat.
After a few weeks of looking at a homes in neighborhoods all across the city, Adam and I decided it would be better for both of us long-term if I moved in with him and helped with renovations of the home he had just bought instead of finding my own place. So I emailed my realtor and said thanks for your time but I’m going to put the home buying process on hold for now. It was an emotional email to send (I get it from my mom), because after all this build-up of excitement and flush of independence, I was back to renting for now and owning would have to come later in life.
We began serious construction at Adam’s house and everything was going well. I found a nook for me to work from, we split the closet space in half, and we somehow shoved two households worth of silverware into a single silverware drawer. Drywall started to come down, orders were placed for bathroom tile, and I bought my first pair of Carhartt overalls (10/10 do this for yourself too). This is my house now! This is easy! Wow, this is cheap!
And then one day before lunch, I got an email from my realtor:
“Hey Clara, I know your house hunting is on hold but i told you i would send any good MCM if they came on.... well look at this one! And not a bad location. ”
He was so right it hurt. I emailed back immediately and we scheduled a showing for a couple hours later. I nervously packed my things at work and headed home.
We showed up at the house with two other cars already in the driveway, practically waiting in line to get inside. We were the twelfth showing of the day, the first day this house had been on the market, and it was only 2:30PM.
Walking through the house, I loved every ounce of it. From the curved and wood-paneled wall in the entryway to the huge wall of windows in the master bedroom looking out at the 3 acre backyard, and each and every built-in in between. Most of the wood used to build and decorate the home had been harvested from the lot it sat on. The owner had picked the design straight out of the newspaper in the 60s. Everything about it had a story. Not only that but it was also right in the middle of my original house budget (only $150K which is nearly insane for Indy) and it was only 8 minutes from Adam’s house, situated right near a Lowe’s, a Trader Joe’s, and a bus stop. What a dream! Another tiny miracle? The current owner’s name was also Clara. Work with me here, Clara!
Adam and I sat in my car in the neighborhood for what felt like hours, discussing the logistics of owning two homes between the two of us. Where would we live? What would happen to the mid-construction house he owned? Which was a better fit for us? Which neighborhood was more enjoyable? Which would be worth more if we invested our time in it? Where would we find the time? Would we turn the garage and workshop back into a two car garage and build a new workshop in the backyard (there was plenty of space!) Would it all make sense? Would everything be okay?
We ended up deciding that yes, it would make sense and yes, everything would be okay. We both loved it madly and we could make it work. We would finish whatever we needed to in his house with no extras and then move to this house to start work here. He could maybe rent his house to his brother who was moving to Indy soon. If that didn’t work, he could look at other options. Everything would be fine.
I sat down with my realtor and put together an offer above asking price with a sincere letter from one Clara to another and settled in for the longest 24 hours of my life.
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I’ll spare you the details here; I didn’t get it. The house received 23 offers, 3 of which were from people who never even stepped foot inside, and it ended up selling for 20% over its asking price. There were so many offers that we never actually got a response from the listing agent, they just bulk emailed all of the realtors with an update on the accepted offer and a thanks for looking, see ya next time.
But ever since that moment, I’ve struggled with how to handle the…let me be dramatic here…heartbreak. Is it okay to mourn a home? You experience identical feelings to that of a friendship ending or a break-up; why didn’t they choose me? Though this event is a lot easier to explain $$$$$$ so I guess there’s some consolation in that. But is it okay to let it weigh heavy on your heart even though things are good and this house is our home and we put so much of ourselves into it and get even more in return? Maybe the real question is if it’s okay to have a folder full of photos from a stranger’s house still backed up to my Dropbox. I sure hope so to all of those.
I’ve found no easy solution to the feelings other than to feel them. And know that one day we’ll have a house on a handful of acres that we’ll make into a home just the same, and maybe we pull inspiration from the home that never was when we design it; we’ll build a workshop out back and put skylights in every bedroom, plenty of built-ins and lots of windows. But really, we know that not every home has to be a dream home and we know that everything will be okay when we get there too.