I will never forget the day I left my house. My home, so perfect in every way. The beautiful kitchen we designed ourselves. The large yard where we’d sit on a warm summer’s eve. The recroom I turned into a studio. My eyes are watering… how I miss my home.
Rewind three years earlier to the day my husband and I first moved in. I put the key in the lock, turned and knob, and … oh my! I was silent for a long moment.
“What have we done!?!?” I finally exclaimed.
It was ugly. The walls were stained with nicotine. The carpets resembled an outdoor rug. And the smell… I hated it and everything about it. How could we have put an offer on this house??
We painted the walls. Changed the carpets. Ripped out the kitchen. Rearranged the furniture. Got to know the neighborhood. Bit by bit… I fell in love with that house.
Almost a month ago, I said goodbye to my home, and moved thousands of miles away.
I walked up the stairs to our new apartment full of excitement and anticipation. I put the key in the lock, turned the knob, and…. I hated it! This is Southern California… why can’t I see any mountains from my window? Why is there a gargling sound coming out of the bathroom? And where am I going to put my piano?!?
There is was again. Buyer’s remorse.
This time, I knew what was happening, and I wasn’t going to let it last.