coping mechanisms
spoiler alert: I have not been keeping my cool
It’s Tuesday morning and I’m sitting at a coffee shop trying to write about my fear of going to the doctor’s. It’s impossible to concentrate, though, because my eyes keep darting to my phone, willing it to light up with good news—either we got the fourth house we put an offer on, or we didn’t. In some sort of miracle, this particular house has been on the market four days and we’re only the second offer. It’s an impeccable mid-century house I’ve only ever dreamed of having, with a shiny kitchen, wooden ceiling beams, desert-y landscaping, and more windows than I can count. My hopes are creeping higher, but this is the post-covid real estate market and there is no precedent for anything. When we were writing our offer Jacob told our realtor to include the naming rights of our first- and second-born children. He was only half kidding.
Have you ever wanted something to happen so badly your teeth hurt, but your fate lies in the hands of someone else? It’s an impossible scenario that flies in the face of how we think the world should work. In an ideal world, we’re supposed to set a goal and work hard until it’s achieved. There’s no guidebook for when you’ve set the goal, worked hard, done everything right, and a faceless force vetoes your best effort for no clear reason.
When there’s no obvious path forward, sometimes distraction is the only answer. Outside of working and obsessing over houses, I’ve been throwing myself into meaningless tasks like looking for the perfect sandals and creating the ultimate summer bucket list. These things may seem inconsequential, but they allow me to have, in whatever small way, a modicum of control. While I’m researching strappy slides I’m not thinking about why the mind of a seller is so fickle. While planning a breakfast picnic I can forget, for a moment, that my fate is being decided by a stranger.
It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m lying in bed intently rewatching the videos I took in the dream house, imagining the next chapter of our lives. This is something I haven’t allowed myself to do with our previous offers. But the sellers already verbally accepted our contract; it really feels like it’s going to work this time. I text Jacob to brainstorm furniture arrangement in the master bedroom. I look up short-term rental laws for the in-law unit in the basement. For the briefest moment, I envision Christmas with our family in the light-filled living room.
But I should know better by now. My phone finally rings and I pounce—it’s our realtor. “I don’t have good news,” she begins. “The sellers had second thoughts and decided to go with the other offer. I’m so sorry.”
A deep sigh is all I have in me. “Honestly, nothing surprises me at this point,” I respond. “It would’ve been too good to be true.” It still feels like a punch to the gut. Guess I’ll just go back to planning breakfast picnics until I have the courage to open zillow again.