A Twisty Turn to a House Sale

Sunpatiens flowers bloom vibrantly while their new front yard companion, a realtor’s house for sale sign, appears in the background. Author’s photo.

The Howard Hanna realtor sign hangs under the arm of a white post, swinging in the breeze.

The sign posted in our front yard is visible through the double-hung windows from the bedroom I had teleworked from during the pandemic, the room I had written my book from, and my daughter's sanctuary growing up.

Transition, the flapping sign conveyed to me. My house is ready for sale.

Two weeks earlier, after a joyous, twisty affair remotely building a house from Pennsylvania, my husband and I were in Florida, having been issued the occupancy permit for the newly built home.

We had loaded up my car and drove southbound. A two-day drive landed us in Florida and right into Flagler Beach, a coastal community between Daytona Beach and St. Augustine. We planned a week's stay, leaving the car behind and flying back.

The Florida stay offered invaluable insight.

1. I couldn't stay hydrated. Drinking water seemed insufficient. Next time, I know to buy liquid with electrolytes.

2. Ponytails will likely be my new hairdo to combat drenching humidity and heat.

3. I have space in places in the new build I didn't appreciate before and less space in others. I'll be repacking items for the eventual move.

4. The mail person is friendly. She came to our house to welcome us and introduced her daughter. They had been anticipating our eventual move-in.

5. A sleeper couch mattress surprisingly promoted a good night's sleep. (The sleeper had a Tempurpedic.)

6. Driving to Florida was doable. We stayed overnight in Columbia, SC. My husband was pleased he could endure the drive. The tag-team driving worked. He adds, "The police were everywhere in Georgia on I-95." (Not that was an issue for any reason.)

7. You really don't need as many things as you think. Staying in the house with nothing except the sleeper couch, you quickly realize that.

8. Conversely, I immediately bought a guest room mattress. A Florida friend informed me our mutual friend has plane tickets to visit, and they are coming to see me in Florida next month. ("I don't have nightstands," I said. They didn't seem to mind. "I am not there yet," I added. They'll take their chances.)

9. Locals seem to remember how lucky they are to live near the beach.

Once we landed in Pennsylvania, I knew I would keep letting go of possessions that no longer served us. There would be a new lifestyle, and Florida's week-long living helped me see the lifestyle change clearly.

But, the turning point was the dumpster.

The blessed green dumpster that filled our driveway changed the dynamic. Did the dumpster guy know he was in the business of helping people to let go and move on?

For a week, the dumpster filled up, and the house emptied.

Now to this moment, the still-swaying sign on the front lawn beckons potential buyers to make their reservation to see the house.

A whirlwind of bittersweet excitement.

In preparation for buyer walk-throughs, my husband and I clear off tables and countertops of personal effects, the walls stripped of family photographs. The house feels fresh and new, ready for its company, possibly its next homeowner. Home and Garden TV channel hosts would be proud.

When the showings begin this weekend, another transition will start for someone we don't know yet.

The swaying sign will eventually be topped off with "sold." And I'll no longer be looking out the house's window from my daughter's childhood bedroom.

Another family, perhaps with children, will begin their dreams. Fresh energy will fill the empty spaces, and the yard may become a playground again. I'm hopeful.

Afterward:

I have goosebumps.

After finishing this blog, my husband and I received a text. We have a buyer. The buyer wanted to make an offer on the house before it went on the market the next day.

This is not the goosebumps part. The next part is.

In my book (Building A Dream: The Joyous, Twisty Journey to Breaking Ground on a Beach House), posted on our refrigerator, was a yellow sticky with a dollar figure. We hoped to build our house in Florida for the price jotted on the yellow sticky. Though construction labor costs skyrocketed and material shortages were prevalent, our Florida build exceeded the number on the yellow sticky. Our dream house build dimmed in those moments.

Two days ago, I claimed to my husband that, ideally, the house would sell for (and I could see his mind aligning) the price we had on that yellow sticky. My thought hadn't been premeditated; more like the idea had just dropped in out of nowhere.

We didn't do that and listed our home compared to a couple of recently sold homes in our area to start at a lower price.

Then life reminded me, once again, of its charming ways to surprise and delight; its circular nature to connect the dots if we are only willing to trust the bigger picture.

Our realtor told the buyer we felt it best to go to market. The part that gave me the goosebumps? The buyer’s response.

And, just like that, the earlier thought about the yellow sticky had become a psychic revelation, a surprise by the universe. The yellow sticky price finally debuted into the world months later as an offer for our house.

Life is magic.