Letting Go

Off we went.

Yesterday we drove down the freeway, off the ramp, over the hills, past the haystacks, around the curves, through the potholes, above the gravel, by the lake, and about the bend (to somebody’s grandmother’s house).

A one hour drive.

The house had a For Sale sign in the yard. It was the right size and (sort of) within our price range.

Except.

Except, except, except.

We talked about the commute. Two hours in a car each day isn’t going to work (especially if we have kids). We talked about the layout. A bedroom where you have to walk through the kitchen and family room to reach the bathroom didn't feel quite right. And the lake. The lake was visible but not accessible. That’s no fun.

Also where in the HECK were we?

We had no idea. We were pretty sure we were still in Maryland.

When we first began house hunting four years ago I could go for months on end looking at real estate. Eventually I’d get discouraged and take a break. I think I’ve hit my limit. This time around we looked at one little old house and I already feel defeated.

I keep telling Ron I’m hanging on by my fingertips. Each time I think an answer will reveal itself it doesn’t. So I grip even harder.

I wonder what would happen if I just let go?