My House is For Sale, But Not My Home

The “For Sale” sign is up. So is my anxiety level as we have now entered real estate limbo. We’re moving… but not yet. We’re living here… but only a while longer.

Last time we sold a house, it was on the market for six hellish months. Two things I remember most about that time eighteen years ago: The phone would ring requesting a showing just as I’d strapped our one-year-old into her high chair for dinner … And, I hid baskets of laundry on the far side of our bed, hoping lookers would merely glance into the room and not walk in far enough to see the mounds that accumulated daily with a pre-schooler and a baby.

When we finally had an offer, it came from a couple who had come to the Open House the very first week our home was on the market. They’d loved it and spent those months saving for a down payment. Serendipity. The home didn’t sell because it was waiting just for them.

As for us, we looked and looked, made a few offers, and had a couple of deals fall through. Then, the week we sold our old house, we found this one. On the market just five days, we jumped on it. Although we had been mightily disappointed when the other homes didn’t work out, this was by far the best one for us. Serendipity again.

At the risk of getting too touchy-feely, here’s what got me through those six long months of real estate limbo. I reflected on the concept of “home” and what it really means. More than just four walls with a certain number of bedrooms, new carpet, the right countertops and an extra bathroom, I began to think about “home” in a more abstract sense. The “perfect home” was where our children would be safe, where we would nurture our family, welcome our friends, dream our dreams.

There’s a reason for the cliché “Home is where the heart is”… And even though we’ll soon be leaving this house, John and I will carry the concept of “home” across the country with us. Even though our children will no longer return to this house, they can always return home.

Inspite of the sweat equity, financial investment and material improvements we’ve made over the last eighteen years, it’s the living and loving that’s brought the place to life. I can almost see our kids’ lives flash before me as I remember them riding bikes in the cul-de-sac, shooting hoops in the driveway, walking up the street to school, making music in the basement, setting up an obstacle course in the yard, opening presents on Christmas morning, playing with the dog, taking pictures in front of the fireplace before a school dance… 

It’s all coming with me, every memory, every moment. I must take them along—but not just for me. I’ve got to get out of the way so another family can grow and dream. I may be leaving them a house, but they have to make it a home of their own. 

Extra Grace? Yes, please. Especially on Facebook.

Ever heard of an EGR? I first learned about EGRs some years ago in small-group leadership training at my Episcopal Church. Our teacher, Father Ron, was a hip, wise, somewhat older priest, not an authoritative father figure--although he was an authority on many things--more like a really cool uncle or family friend who’d traveled the world and learned a few things the hard way. Fr. Ron was very open to sharing both his spiritual and earthly journeys, especially the bits that bring you to your knees and eventually lead to humility.

One of the things we learned from Father Ron was that, as small-group leaders, we could count on having at least one person in our groups of eight or ten who was an EGR—Extra Grace Required; grace being that divine gift God bestows to bless us with patience and other virtues.

Some EGRs talk too much, frequently interrupt, or veer off topic. Some second guess everyone else’s comments, or play Devil’s advocate. Still others sit mutely during group discussion and don’t contribute no matter how much you coax them. Save for the latter, EGRs tend to be needy people who require lots of attention and even more patience, God bless ‘em. Sometimes they are off their meds or non-recovering addicts but, just as often, they’re simply know-it-all pains in the ass like Holly Hunter’s character in the movie Broadcast News."It must be nice to always believe you know better, to always think you're the smartest person in the room," a colleague says. To which she replies, "No. It's awful."

If you look around, the EGRs are everywhere. They’re at work, school, the grocery store (especially in the parking lot), the movie theater, the neighborhood (don’t tell me there isn’t at least one Gladys Kravitz on your block), and now the EGRs are on Facebook. These are the FBEGRs—pronounced “Ef Beggars.” I know what you’re thinking, but “Ef” (F) stands for Facebook. Yes it does (insert smiley face).

The FBEGRs crave attention from anyone and everyone who will read and respond to their status updates and links. Some FBEGR posters are of a mean-spirited political nature, using name-calling, lies and scare tactics to warn us about the dangers of Candidate X (usually the one I’m voting for). Others settle on a particular societal issue like abortion or homosexuality or even the environment and they beat that horse over and over and over again. I have “unfriended” several of these—not because of their opinions, but because of their outrageously nasty engagement with others. All you have to do is turn on cable news to be assured that there is no longer any such thing as polite civil discourse.

Some of the FBEGRs report (maybe they think it’s Twitter) the same droning, mind-numbing tidbits over and over again. I promise, if I wasn’t moved to comment the first time, I’m probably not going to “like” or comment on your post the third or fourth time, unless it is to yawn or roll my eyes (are there emoticons for those?). When not receiving either enough feedback or the desired feedback, this FBEGR may venture toward TMI—too much information—but more often will post self-pitying, passive-aggressive, cryptic, remarks which appear to be aimed at one or two evil-doers (who, me?), yet there it is, out there for all to see. You “certain someone… you know who you are.”  

I’m done. I just ditched another one. (Boy, did I show her!) I’ve already got enough EGRs in my life, thank you. They're the ones I gladly put up with because I love them dearly--and because I know that sometimes they require extra grace to put up with me as well. Yes, I admit, I can—only on very rare occasions—be a pill. And that’s one way you know who your real friends are. There’s a mutuality and a reciprocity when it comes to family and friendship, even on Facebook. It’s respect you have for others, and hopefully for yourself, by attempting to extend grace rather than require it.

Sadly, I don’t have all the extra grace required to embrace every single social media beggar who's out there grovelling for attention. They say beggars can’t be choosers.  Also, that you can’t choose your family… but, Facebook or otherwise, you can choose your friends.