I never thought I’d admit this, but I’m over owning a house. In fact, I’m not sure I was ever that sold on it to begin with. You’ll grow into it, they said. You’ll thank yourself when you’re older. You’ll regret it if you don’t take the opportunity to buy now. Blah, blah, blah. Well, here I am, pushing fifty and still not feeling it, so I’m selling.
I shouldn’t downplay the fact that owning a house for 30 years has provided me with a pretty nice nest egg that I wouldn’t otherwise have had. Not to diminish the value of that, but my point isn’t really a financial one. It’s about not wanting to have the spectre of attachment looming over me, which is why I’m selling all my worldly possessions and moving to Iceland to live on a communal land cooperative.
I’m not joking – that’s what’s happening. At least, it will be once I’ve passed through the fiery chasm of the sales process. The first step is finding the right person to take care of the conveyancing. Near Bentleigh, this shouldn’t be too much of a hassle, yet it always seems to eat up a disproportionate chunk of mental energy. This is just the kind of thing I’m talking about – the constant, nagging need to feel that you’re making all the ‘right’ decisions about your material assets, when really there’s no one right path forward.
Of course, when it comes to property conveyancing, there are steps that are more right than others. That’s why people hire conveyancers. But at the end of the day, it’s not like one choice of who to hire is going to be vastly different to another. Still, the inner voice of doubt still creeps in, whispering salty nothings about how the perfectly qualified professional you’ve signed on with is trying to rip you off while you sleep, and you’re going to lose everything as a result.
I do without all that in my life, and by selling my house once and for all, I’ll only need to pass through it one last time.