My husband and I have put in an offer to buy a house. We’ve been looking for a long time, ready to get out of our cul-de-sac neighborhood and put more space around us.
We’ve tried before, at least twice, to buy other houses, but we didn’t get them. Whether the home had been on the market for a week or a year, other buyers swooped in and snatched them out of our hands. We hope this third time will be our charm.
Now we just have to wait to hear if we put in the winning bid. I hate waiting. I’ve never been a patient person. I want to know right now if I’ll have to pack up my life for the first time in more than a decade. What a great opportunity to cull—to sort and toss and get rid of all the baggage.
I’m sure I’ll have mixed emotions either way. If we don’t get the house, I’ll be upset because it’s really a great place. If we do get it, I’ll worry that we’ll be in over our heads. I know these things work out the way they’re supposed to, so I try to be calm and at peace and all that good stuff.
But I’m not very good at it! I want to know now! Do we get this house? Do we not? If we do—oh my gosh: We’ll have to move!