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muckefuckAs some of you may know, my old condo had been on the market for just under a year before I closed on it yesterday. There are a couple reasons why I haven't written more about the whole experience. The first is a certain superstitious aversion to jinxing things. Particularly once it was under contract, I didn't want to say anything lest it fall through and I feel miserable for having gotten my hopes up.
The second reason is that it's been a dulling lesson in progressive disappointment. My original asking price was $164,500, which I arrived at this by feeding my 2003 purchase price of $139,000 into a couple of inflation calculators and then tacking on a few thousand for time and trouble. My realtor was happy with it because it was still below the comps in the building. But after weeks of no activity, we began a series of strategically dropping the price to stir interest. Eventually, it came all the way down to $119,000 and I closed for $115,00.
I'm still in a state of denial about the loss. I selected my place very carefully so that it would be both an excellent home and a safe investment. It's in a spectacularly well-run building in a beautiful location. More important--given that I knew at the time the market was inflated--it was a lower-end property: a one-bedroom perfect for first-time buyers. I reasoned that, when bubble burst, it would be those at the upper end who were hit hardest and seeking to downsize. At the same time, first-time buyers would still be entering the market, so a place like mine was sure to hold its value, right?
Well, perhaps--if there hadn't been, you know, a credit crunch which made it all but impossible for first-time buyers to get credit. In the end, I was just as blindsided by developments as the irrationally exuberant flippers I was laughing up my sleeve at. It's been a tremendous blow to my ego; I feel, quite simply, like a failure. $50,000 in capital, up in smoke, like it never even existed. That averages out to $10,000 out the window for every year I lived there. For that kind of money, I could simply have rented a place twice the size with every amenity imaginable and had it professionally cleaned twice a month.
And this brings us to the third reason why I haven't been posting, which is as painful as a loss like that is, it hasn't cleaned me out. At a time when a significant number of people on my flist and in my personal life are un- or underemployed, I have a secure job with excellent benefits. I still have money in the bank and an IRA. Most importantly, I have![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu, who promised me I wouldn't suffer for having been forced to sell when I did and he has made good on that promise. I really don't deserve anyone's sympathy and wouldn't be comfortable receiving it anyway.
So this puts me in an awkward position whenever I have to tell someone I sold my place, since the first word out of their mouth is, "Congratulations!" It's hard to explain that I don't really feel like celebrating without sounding like a big whinerbaby. I really liked that place; together with a host of friends, I put a lot into that place. It was my first opportunity to turn a habitation into the place that I really wanted and I ran with it. Now not only is it gone before its full potential was realised, but I'm out the funds I expected to have to make this place into the home I've dreamt of.
Again, don't feel bad for me; every night I get to hear the snores of my beloved, and that's something priceless that I've wanted for over a decade. I haven't slipped out of the middle class, like those forced to walk away from huge mortgages they couldn't every hope to repay have. In fact, I didn't even have to take money to the closing. I know I'll be a better person for the whole experience once I'm finally able to come to grips with it. (As I bitched to the Old Man, "Why does personal growth have to be so expensive?") It's only in my mind that I've been prevented from doing anything I really want to do, since people far worse off have done a lot more with less.
*BIG SIGH*
Now with that out of the way, it's time for more posts about peonies and bunnies and borage salads.
The second reason is that it's been a dulling lesson in progressive disappointment. My original asking price was $164,500, which I arrived at this by feeding my 2003 purchase price of $139,000 into a couple of inflation calculators and then tacking on a few thousand for time and trouble. My realtor was happy with it because it was still below the comps in the building. But after weeks of no activity, we began a series of strategically dropping the price to stir interest. Eventually, it came all the way down to $119,000 and I closed for $115,00.
I'm still in a state of denial about the loss. I selected my place very carefully so that it would be both an excellent home and a safe investment. It's in a spectacularly well-run building in a beautiful location. More important--given that I knew at the time the market was inflated--it was a lower-end property: a one-bedroom perfect for first-time buyers. I reasoned that, when bubble burst, it would be those at the upper end who were hit hardest and seeking to downsize. At the same time, first-time buyers would still be entering the market, so a place like mine was sure to hold its value, right?
Well, perhaps--if there hadn't been, you know, a credit crunch which made it all but impossible for first-time buyers to get credit. In the end, I was just as blindsided by developments as the irrationally exuberant flippers I was laughing up my sleeve at. It's been a tremendous blow to my ego; I feel, quite simply, like a failure. $50,000 in capital, up in smoke, like it never even existed. That averages out to $10,000 out the window for every year I lived there. For that kind of money, I could simply have rented a place twice the size with every amenity imaginable and had it professionally cleaned twice a month.
And this brings us to the third reason why I haven't been posting, which is as painful as a loss like that is, it hasn't cleaned me out. At a time when a significant number of people on my flist and in my personal life are un- or underemployed, I have a secure job with excellent benefits. I still have money in the bank and an IRA. Most importantly, I have
monshu, who promised me I wouldn't suffer for having been forced to sell when I did and he has made good on that promise. I really don't deserve anyone's sympathy and wouldn't be comfortable receiving it anyway.So this puts me in an awkward position whenever I have to tell someone I sold my place, since the first word out of their mouth is, "Congratulations!" It's hard to explain that I don't really feel like celebrating without sounding like a big whinerbaby. I really liked that place; together with a host of friends, I put a lot into that place. It was my first opportunity to turn a habitation into the place that I really wanted and I ran with it. Now not only is it gone before its full potential was realised, but I'm out the funds I expected to have to make this place into the home I've dreamt of.
Again, don't feel bad for me; every night I get to hear the snores of my beloved, and that's something priceless that I've wanted for over a decade. I haven't slipped out of the middle class, like those forced to walk away from huge mortgages they couldn't every hope to repay have. In fact, I didn't even have to take money to the closing. I know I'll be a better person for the whole experience once I'm finally able to come to grips with it. (As I bitched to the Old Man, "Why does personal growth have to be so expensive?") It's only in my mind that I've been prevented from doing anything I really want to do, since people far worse off have done a lot more with less.
*BIG SIGH*
Now with that out of the way, it's time for more posts about peonies and bunnies and borage salads.
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