Why I Sold My Home in a Bad Housing Market

Tonight I sleep for the last time in the home in which I raised my child. Tomorrow I’ll settle my mortgage, pay my last tax assessment, unplug the lights for good.

On Aug. 31, I close on a deal that promises me one more try at the American Dream, only this time, with a lot less stuff, fewer bills and a lot less ownership.

I don’t know what they call this movement but it is growing. Everywhere I go, I find myself telling people, “I’m selling my house. I’m never going to own a home again.” And what do I hear in return?

“I don’t blame you.”

That’s what I hear. A lot. And of course I know why.

Because we live in a time when if you stop paying your mortgage you get rewarded with principal reductions. Or lower interest rates. Or both.

Or maybe the bank will buy back your home, then rent it back to you for a reduced cost.

But I’m not behind, I’m not under, I’m still paying my dues and keeping my head – barely – above water. My deal? I get to pay thousands of dollars to refinance at a lower interest rate by about 1.5 points.

No thank you.

I sold my home, with a handshake, without a realtor and with a buyer willing to take it "as is" and to do the work needed to make the home “move-in ready.”

For me, the house is "move-out ready," which means I get a chance to walk away from the roof that needs to be replaced, the paint that needs to be applied, the driveway that needs to be pressure-washed and the doors and windows that need to be re-caulked and sealed.

I get to walk away from the notice from my insurance company, which told me I had until December, when my policy runs out, to replace my roof or not get reinsured.

I feel free.

I feel as if I am the one being sent off to college, outfitted with the furnishings I need to set up “house” on a small scale.

Small. I like the sound of that.

"Small" in a world of big problems. Perhaps that's the "new American Dream." To feel the burdens lifting, to hear the doors slowly creaking open, to live home free.

It’s time to save for my own retirement, and not for that of my house.

I’m getting that “do over” they talked about in City Slickers.

But first, I sorted through lots and lots and lots and lots of stuff. Was I a hoarder? You could argue that I was. Or maybe I was just busy, working two jobs to pay my bills, struggling through layoffs and firings that are part and parcel of a career such as mine, in which everything is changing and changing fast.

What's been neat about this journey, if not tedious, has been sorting through 30 years worth of newspaper clippings, magazine articles, books and reports. Only these weren’t things I just clipped for interest. These were things I wrote myself, on staff or on assignment as a freelance journalist in numerous states up and down the east coast.

I also saved practically everything my child wrote, fashioned, created, colored and built from preschool through college. You know what? I’m glad I did. It gave me a chance to relive those special memories, to review how her mind grew from what it was to what it has become. I got to see the patterns, the connections, the growth and the revelation.

Things I forgot, I remembered.

Things I treasured, I treasure even more today.

The most special part of the journey? Two nights ago, when my ex-husband dropped by and wanted to talk about Zoe. I was so tired, I begged him to just let me sleep. He said he’d be right back. He left the room and the next time I looked up, standing in his place was our daughter.

Zoe had flown home from her job in Washington, D.C., standing there with a big smile on her face, even jumping up and down as I screamed my delight. She came to help me, and to stand by me when we say goodbye to the home in which we shared so many wonderful times.

We grew up together in this home and we bonded tight as a family unit.

In the end, that’s what mattered the most.

Not the mortgage. Not the bills. Not the furnishings. Not the lawn.

But the memories that we made together and with the people who dropped in now and then to share their lives with ours.

Now that I don’t have to worry about the bills, and the perils of the housing market, I can step back and remember and enjoy why it is I wanted to own a home in the first place.

And to realize why, indeed, it is time to move on and to embrace what's next.

Yes, the new American Dream: Home free.