One Beginning

My offer for the house I'm currently buying (let's call it Cowherd) was accepted just as I was due to enter escrow on another property (let's call it Nearmiss). Both properties were foreclosures held by the same bank, but Nearmiss had been vacated so recently that the previous owners' belongings were still there. That was the first problem with Nearmiss: the clear and unmistakable fact that the previous occupants hadn't be ready to leave, and might not have even believed that they would be forced to leave. They left behind items of both financial and sentimental value.

I had initially seen hope in Nearmiss because of its light and its fruit trees. The house was small, but had good light from lots of windows. As time went on, though, and it felt more and more wrong to me. I'm used to living in a moderately sized apartment, but the place felt small. There was no room where I felt I could spread out. I took a handful of friends and family members out to look at the house and get their opinions, and their positive impression kept me going for a while. But the more time I spent there, witnessing the remains of someone else's misfortune, the less I felt that I could be at home in that space. I developed a serious case of cold feet.

Had my offer on Cowherd not been accepted, I don't know what I would have done. I might have backed out anyway, and spent however many weeks or months it took to find another house to offer on. Or I might have made myself go through with it, and been working on getting it livable right now.

I'm just as happy never to know.