Moving out of my comfort zone

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My heart sank every time I went into the house across the street that I had built up in my head as the perfect house. It was close and easy, but the one bedroom was too cramped.

Granted, I had never actually been in it. I just knew that I wanted to move there. It was the perfect location, basically across the street from where I am now. I had seen pictures and had built a storyline in my head about how perfect it was. How dare it not meet my expectations! I had been unceremoniously thrown into the unfamiliar waters of house hunting.

I literally feel over my head and a bit discouraged some days. I’ve got great advisors, but OMG there is so much to consider! Not just minutiae I know, yet forget; but a whole other language of considerations that I’ve never heard of!

Did you know that mortgage literally means death-tax? Seriously.

Short-sell… foreclosure…. Oh, and pre-foreclosure doesn’t actually mean it’s for sale, even if it has a “For Sale” sign in the yard. One price for investors; but you actually want to live there? Well, the price is much higher then.

Why are homes over a decade old in crappy neighborhoods so overpriced? Why is  the “tax value” and price so different?

I feel like a bewildered stranger in a strange land. The first day I went with my realtor, [my gracious “host” in the foreign land of real estate] to look at potential places. I liked every single one of them! They all have good and bad points. I don’t want to give up storage space, just because the loft is so darn cute. This one is perfect, but it’s too far from everything.

I’m on a bit of an information overload. So many choices. What if I make the wrong one? What if I have to give up my perfect location? My worst fear is that I’ll get all moved in and regret it.

 I may decide not to move, but I refuse not to move because I am overwhelmed. If I don’t move, it will be because I made a conscious choice not to; it will be because I have decided I am actually better off where I am, through sound reasoning. It will not be the result of my freaking out and going into freeze or flight mode, as I am very apt to do.

It sometimes occurs to me in more lucid moments, that on the rare occasion when freaking out can be somewhat satisfying in a cathartic sort of way, it is rarely helpful and more often damaging. It is so much more productive to breathe through the process, enjoy the ride.

Fighting and fleeing only postpone the stressors, making the circumstances much worse than if I had just dealt with them in the first place. But it takes higher thinking to discover that.

Some days you may still find me in my protective fort I’ve constructed with, objections, over-caution, and laziness. But I’ll make sure I have some home listings to peruse.

 c.2013