This weekend marks the one year anniversary of me owning my own house. Well, technically the bank owns it and I, in turn, owe them a large portion of each paycheque I earn, but for all intents and purposes, it’s mine.
I survived the first year without any major catastrophes. I managed to keep it clean and kept up, filled with an adequate supply of food (both healthy and junk), got all the bills paid on time, and didn’t destroy anything. About the worst that happened was that the springs for the garage door broke and needed to be replaced. An unwelcome expense, to be sure, but not major.
In November I bought a dog, a West Highland White Terrier, Wally. Even though I’ve managed to keep from destroying anything in the house myself, Wally has more than compensated. As he was teething for the first several months, he took great pleasure in chewing the kitchen baseboards, cupboard corners, and doors, leaving them in a state that will necessitate their replacement.
After moving in, it took several weeks before I was finally able to reprogram my brain to think of this house as my new home. Even now, after having lived here for a year, my brain has a hard time grappling with the fact that I own and house. This thing is mine. Maybe part of that is related to the fact that it’s still difficult for my to view myself as a “grownup”. Houses belong to “grownups”, so if I’m not a “grownup”, I can’t have a house, right? Or does owning a house, in turn, make me a “grownup”? Of course, my girlfriend believes that the true bellwether of adulthood is the possession of a Costco card. Since I have both a house and a Costco card must therefore officially be a “grownup”. How long it will take me to accept this fact, only time will tell. Maybe by next year.
Sleep well,
DTE
No comments:
Post a Comment