My wanderlust search for my next home is really a simple proposition which goes something like this:
I sell my house and for about the same price and then I add:
a swimming pool, a wet-bar, wine room, heavenly views of tropical waters, snowy peaks, colorful fall foliage, beaming city skylines, vast expanses of ocean — to name a few things I don’t have now.
This includes going to see apartments in high-rises and brownstones with parking for at least one car (I guess we could share just one car for some unknown reason). The “cons ” hit hard and fast in the city scenario with limited sunlight, small amounts of private outdoor space, shared walls with unknown mortals, boxy site lines (no feeling of expansive living) and noise all day long (if you were allowed to open your window). Oh, and all this for the price of two of my homes. To be fair, for a price, you could find what you want in the city as long as you want the city life. I saw very little “grass is greener” in the city set-up, barring one advantage: eating out every night and stumbling home drunk, neither of which appeal to me any more. The slogan, “there’s no place like home” sings loudly in my ear whenever I return to my heated 3-car attached garage, hot tub and large-decked suburban oasis. Sweet boredom awaits.
So what to do? Why not “stay where you are”, says my physical therapist. “You love what you’ve done to your home, why not stay there?” She clearly does not know me at all. Logic is not part of this equation. Moving on, for me, includes ditching the house where we raised our sons. They move on, so isn’t it our turn now? And besides 25 years is long enough in one home. My take on people who live in one house for 50 years is this: “They lack imagination”.
My latest instinct is to travel more and only come back to our suburban home when necessary. In this way, attachments will loosen, the grip on the past will give way to something new, and something surprising might await me.