“Why now?” Our realtor asked us this question when T and I started house hunting, and again when we got ready to make our first offer. Initially it just seemed like the logical next step: get married, buy a house. But as we reflected on this question in light of last fall’s rapidly rising interest rates and historically low supply, we realized that this is the right time for us.
T and I are constantly driving around to play tennis and golf, which is next to impossible in the city. The man in the apartment above us screams from midnight to 2am at least three nights a week. When we both work from home, someone is stuck at the dining room table. We love to host friends for dinner in a space that is simultaneously our living room, dining room, and kitchen. Boston street parking is a nightmare, especially when the Sox play at home.
More than space and privacy though, we’re ready to start building the future we committed to last year in front of our family and friends. We want to be part of a community; playing doubles, running into each other at the local coffee shop, taking weekend workshops at the community center. As newlyweds, we’ve spent hours discussing the life we want to live together. As the picture has gotten sharper, we’ve realized that our house is the backdrop for all of it. So for us, this feels like the right time.
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Watch any TV show about house buying (House Hunters, I’m looking at you), and you’re led to believe that it’s like ordering off a menu. Want a breezy sunroom? A wraparound porch? Central air? Double sinks? A finished basement? Your realtor will source several options that meet most if not all of these criteria, and you’ll have your pick. Then if you want it at something close to the asking price, it’s yours.
This is not how it works, at least not in suburban Boston in the year 2023. We’ve been at this for a few months now. We stay local and keep our schedules clear on weekends to rush out to the suburbs at a day’s notice, and attend open houses. It’s been a lot like dating, with very few second dates. We liked a historical fixer upper that required more vision (and funds) than we ultimately decided we had. We were curious about a unique deck house, but it eventually went hundreds of thousands of dollars over asking.
I’ve been surprised by how hard it’s been to find something we not only agree on, but affirmatively love. This is the biggest purchase we’ve ever made, we want to be over the moon about it. It’s tough to stomach putting down a huge chunk of our savings on something that feels like a compromise. Will the basement office with a faint mildew smell bother me every morning when I settle in for work? What about the busy street that we’ll always have to watch our (future) children around? Or the low ceiling in the master bedroom; how often will we really be standing up in there anyway?
Walking into an open house
But then we found it. The One. Spacious bedrooms, on a beautiful corner lot, with an attached garage, in a prime commuting location. Yes, it needed some cosmetic updates – chimney pointing, a new railing on the deck, replacement for the hot water heater. But as we walked through the light-filled rooms, which flowed beautifully from one to the next, we started to picture our lives there. We turned to each other and whispered, so the listing agent wasn’t tipped off to our interest: this is where you’ll watch the game, this is where I’ll take my morning coffee. We saw my nutcrackers displayed on the white mantle at Christmastime, our sparkly gold happy birthday banner strung across the pillars flanking the entrance to the dining room. A slip-n-slide on the hill in the backyard, my childhood upright piano against the brick wall in the living room for years of lessons.
We went back for a second showing, without our realtor this time, to make sure everything “felt right”. By the time we left, we were radiating excitement. And then we wrote what we thought was a strong offer – above asking, with few contingencies – crossed our fingers, and waited.
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Our realtor called us an hour after the offer deadline to tell us we didn’t get it. My fingers had been shaking picking up the phone, and immediately went limp. We thanked her for letting us know, and then quickly ended the call. Looking at T after that phone call, I saw all the memories we’d created for that house slowly disappearing. I was personally disappointed, but also sad for us and our partnership, and everything the house represented to not only him and I, but us together .
No one warned me about this part – the deep, private pain of losing something that was never mine. It may sound silly, but it really did feel like a loss, even if it was one I saw coming. At home after our second visit to The One, I asked T whether we were getting too attached. Would we regret getting this invested if it ultimately went to some other family? Together, we came to the conclusion that Tennyson is right: it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I still believe this is true.
Picturing the future is what helped us decide to put an offer on The One, not the salesy writeup or the staged photos in the listing. When we do have our offer accepted, I want to feel the kind of exuberance that comes from something deeper than four walls and a roof. It’ll stem from the realization that we’re one step closer to making the memories we’ve created in our minds a reality. Unfortunately for us, we have to continue to figure out whether our favorite nightstands would fit in the master, and how we would decorate for Halloween. It’s only by embracing these details that we can build the kind of excitement I want to have about this momentous step.
So we’re on to the next one. The house buying season is just starting, and we hope the perfect spot for a Christmas tree, and breakfast bar for weekday mornings, and home office where we’ll earn a promotion will come along. And we’ll be the lucky ones with the winning offer this time. But in the meantime, it hurts.