Editor’s Note: The following story by Jeffrey Rembert was posted by Real Prospector on its website under Buyer on August 31, 2015.
While I’ve considered selling my home of nearly 20 years and upgrading, downsizing or simply relocating, something keeps me from calling a real estate broker, perhaps putting my own sign in the yard. Interest rates remain at generational lows, good deals are tucked away in great neighborhoods and credit is readily available. But those economic beacons fail to shed light on the one great and unavoidable obstacle. Packing.
Understand, I hate the idea of packing. Not for the packing itself but for the multiple steps involved in packing. The suddenly discovered gems are treasure-like but the realization that what once sounded like a good idea comes back to haunt you as your days in college or as a single journalist rise up to remind you “moron” has no limits.
Create Space. Put Things in Storage.
Someone please introduce me to the broker who says, “Leave the living area as it is. Let people see how real people live. They’ll envision themselves amongst genuine clutter, watching their children grow, the dog scratching his hindquarters on the corner of the couch. Who really needs to see the backside of the hall closet?”
But brokers don’t say that. Rather, they say, “Let the house breath. Clear the clutter and let the next owner envision how their crap will look in the hall closet.” That of course means I have to clean out the house, from top to bottom, with neither a contract nor an interested buyer in sight. All so my house might breath. Add to that two straight weeks devoted to clearing and sorting on top of the cost of a storage room. We’re selling the house for what reason?
Once you get past this “breathing” episode you find your house more livable not that an organized hall closet changes one’s lifestyle but the feeling of accomplishment, albeit “economic” accomplishment, transcends the time lost and snotty glares from loved ones. “No dear, your tube sock collection isn’t an archaeological relic. It either goes into storage or in the garbage, but because I love you, I’ll let you make the call.”
House Sold. Pack Up What Remains.
You enter this phase of the home-selling process with little trepidation as you’ve already cleared the clutter during the previous phase. Not a chance. The party is just getting started. Of course, you’re role is limited to purchasing boxes and packing tape and staying out of the way as everything associated with your name was put in storage or tossed. Need I remind you of the tube sock collection.
You’re assigned the book shelves at which point you realize you bought only large packing boxes thinking large boxes would result in fewer trips back and forth to the moving van. Then you realize books are heavy. I mean really heavy. So unless you want to embrace disabling back pain or set a poor example for your grandkids – “Why doesn’t grandpa have any books. Can’t he read? Did he go to a dumb college?” – you have to return to the store for small boxes.
Of course, during this step things are uncovered that won’t make it to the new home. “How did we miss that item during the ‘breathing’ phase? Definitely a no go.” Afterward you envision a quick and simple move in because you’ve twice gone over your belongings like the Sunday sports page and know nothing possibly can remain that doesn’t have emotional or practical value.
Moving In. Unpacking What You Packed.
So you put you and your spouse up in a hotel for the week and leave your belongings in storage so you can have the new home painted and scrubbed. It smells like a new home though the property appraiser dates the home back to the Kennedy administration. No matter dates and eras, the home represents a new beginning. At least a new beginning once you unpack.
And then realization hits. How did we cram so much stuff into our last home? And we’re talking stuff after we got rid of stuff. Twice over. I found the missing walkie-talkie but we threw out the other walkie-talkie nine years ago. And here’s a bag of single socks with a note. “Didn’t think you’d miss these, Ha!” Who wrote this this note? Books on natural child birth, guitar strings (do we own an guitar?) and the infamous shell lamp from Aunt Trudy. If it breaks is it an accident or a crime of passion?
Things you never imagined would keeping following you made it through the previous packing phases. But with the kids now graduated college and on their own, a patient spouse who, like you, believes unpacking is better served with a Cabernet Sauvignon, you unpack slowly and simply fill your hallway closet with crap. You may end up with 12 boxes of stuff in the garage to give to the needy, but you’re still unpacked. And at a 4.06% rate.