I’ve just moved house for the zillionth time. Okay, that may be an exaggeration… but it FEELS true. I worked out at one point (in 2000 or so) that I’d moved cities 11 times (involving 4 different countries) in a 15 year period, so you’d think I’d be kinda zen about the whole business of moving house. Sadly the reality is very different, as I always end up teetering on the edge of a tantrum a two-year old would envy.
Interestingly this time around the stuff I thought would stress me didn’t. Instead, I was plagued… well bothered, by unexpected problems.
Long term readers will recall I put my place on the market 4-5 months ago, frustrated with living in a fish bowl and stressed by some body corporate issues (though not the body corporate committee itself). I loved my location and my view. I loved most of my neighbours, but needed more space and wanted something that felt more like home.
Ten weeks of Open Houses passed and I’d essentially given up on my place selling, figuring I’d be staying put. In fact it really wasn’t until I told my agent I wasn’t going to keep my place on the market that he started bringing more potential buyers through! So, 11 weeks into my 12 week contract, my place sold.
I’d been monitoring the market but was caught unawares. I’d seen nothing I’d liked, so figured I’d rent. Until I broadened my search zone to include a couple of smaller suburbs on the outskirts of my (kinda still new) hometown, Hervey Bay. And then I saw it. The place I loved.
When it dropped price overnight I decided it was fate. I didn’t mess about. I looked at it. It felt perfect. I put in an offer and it was mine. The views didn’t quite measure up to the old place, but they were still pretty impressive.
But then there were hiccups with my sale and because my purchase was dependent on it, my dream house seemed as if it was slipping away.
My buyer lives overseas and things are obviously done very differently there. And as the sale was about to go unconditional she asked for a discount because she wanted to move the washing machine (into an unsealed room with no water or power). She contacted me directly on one occasion and emailed a number of other owners with questions (and no, I’m not sure how she got their contact information!).
I was excessively relieved when the sale went unconditional but (naturally) then started to stress about the move. I expected trouble.
But… the uplift and delivery were amazingly stress-free. My removalists were great. The ‘settlement’ for the sale and purchase went smoothly despite the usual week-before hiccups about deposits and the like.
However… I’d arranged for my old place to be cleaned. It’s not necessary I know, but the right thing to do. And yet, my buyer was unhappy with the 4hr clean I’d paid for. It’d been cleaner than it’d been for years, but she offered to send me pictures of her concerns and apparently DID send them to my Real Estate agent and the cleaners themselves. Seriously!
Whereas the house I bought hadn’t been cleaned at all. It’s not filthy but all of the curtains and blinds need a clean. The cupboards and benchtops all had a sticky film on them and needed a good wipe. The removalists traipsing in and out didn’t help the floors so now it needs a good vacuum. But… #longstoryshort (!!!) it’s wonderful.
There. Is. So. Much. Living. Space. And I have my own study (aka the third bedroom).
Better still, I feel ‘at home’ in this place in a way I never did in my previous place.
It feels like me.
So yes readers…. I’m in love.
If you read Sunday’s weekly check-in you’ll know I’m yet to actually shelve all of my books; and of course I’ve not managed to hook my TiVo up correctly yet, have ants in the kitchen, need to work out the gas, septic tank and need to get a handyman in for a range of odd-jobs, but still…
I know it’s the perfect time to declutter however, surely only true masochists enjoy the self-flagellation otherwise known as moving house?
And I’m belatedly linking up with Kylie, for IBOT.