On the next episode of House Hunters Northern Virginia*

*Not a real show.

I had a stress dream about buying a condo. In the dream, I bought this really beautiful condo in Arlington that's just at the top of my budget, but is worth the ridiculous condo fee (because all utilities are included and it's Arlington) and the weird parking lot that's like driving up a hill to a haunted house. At closing, the dude selling the condo tells me that I also have to take ownership of his dog because the dog comes with the condo. We argue about the fact that I don't want a dog as I already have the most handsome cat in the world and he would probably eat the dog. The seller was adamant that I take the dog. This went on for what seemed like eternity until my realtor stepped in and said he would take the dog on my behalf. The seller wasn't happy, but he agreed and I got my condo. My realtor took the dog and I woke up.

I don't know anything about dream analysis, but in terms of oddness, this ranks just after the time I dreamed that all of my leadership development program participants couldn't speak anymore so they needed to present their final projects to the executive team using only interpretive dance. I can make an assumption that the dog represents my apprehension in making a decision about buying a home, not because I dislike the place or it's a bad choice, but because it then becomes a "living" thing that will need care and feeding and my time. Can I manage all of these things? Am I spending too much? Is it the right place for me? It's a lot to think about and you know how I like to overthink everything.

As of yesterday, I've looked at fourteen places. This includes three townhouses and eleven condos. I've driven from Centreville to Fairfax to Kingstowne and all over Alexandria and Arlington looking at places. I've parked illegally three times, hoping my car would still be there when I returned. I've seen the horrors of people who think wall art is a good idea. I've seen so much bad carpet and terrible light fixtures. I've walked out of places asking myself, "Who lives here and why do they think someone else is going to take over this horror show?" I've also left places thinking "That was awesome. Too bad it's in a terrible neighborhood where I'd have to install more security cameras than a bank and get a Doberman." Of the fourteen places, only four have made the "might buy" list and at least one of them is under contract already. The other three are still sitting, waiting for me to do something. 

According to a quick Google search, fourteen viewings is slightly above the average number of places a person will view before buying a home. Apparently, the more places you view, the slower you're evolving as a buyer. I don't think the person who wrote that article has ever purchased real estate in Northern Virginia. I've looked at places within a few miles of each other and you would think I was on another planet. The stark differences between one condo and another is overwhelming. I went to one place yesterday that looked like it hadn't been updated since 1984. Another place had a creepy hallway straight out of The Shining. Thankfully, my realtor laughed when I made a "redrum" joke. Several other places are actually smaller than my one bedroom apartment (although they have more rooms), but they cost way more - what exactly am I getting out of this deal? If I followed the article's advice and purchased a place after only 8-10 viewings, I'd be living in a pit. I'm not evolving slowly, I have taste.

I've never really gotten into the show House Hunters, particularly not the ones where people are buying houses on islands. The couples always seem to have a huge budget for having a job that sounds made up, and don't seem to have ever spoken to one another about what they actually want in a house. However, the more condos and houses I look at, the more I think I might be turning into them minus the ridiculous job and crazy budget. I've actually thought and/or said enough of the phrases on the above card to get BINGO (I'll let you guess which ones). I'm looking at two more places today. I hope by the end of this round, I'll narrow down my contender list and make a decision. My realtor is being very patient (bless him) and is convinced I will find my home sooner rather than later. And then the fun of the offer and closing process begins.

What stress dream will I have next?

House Hunters Bingo

My 40th Year on Earth: Work, Death, and Stuff

I have a realtor.

A few weeks ago, I posted about my perfectionist tendencies and my anxiety around buying my first home. Yes, I'm aware that people buy homes everyday (even if maybe they shouldn't), but that doesn't make it less stress-inducing. Since I shared my post, I've done what I always do: research. I read a bunch of articles about first-time home buying, loan types, the pre-approval process, and even looked at some listings. And then I got very anxious, and asked Keely to cuddle with me. My non-lap cat obliged, bless him, and I felt better. I did nothing, but I felt better.

I should back up a little bit before my real estate anxiety attack. The end of September and beginning of October were a series of unrelated, but actually very related events that have given me some new perspective on life and things (so eloquent, I know). It started with the docent walkthrough of the new Judy Chicago exhibition at the museum where I volunteer. Judy Chicago is one of my favorite artists, and I've been waiting for this exhibit to open. She spoke about it the last time she did an event at NMWA two years ago. The exhibition is called The End: A Meditation on Death and Extinction, and features three sections on grief, mortality, and extinction. With that title, you can imagine what the exhibition is like. It starts with a powerful series based on Kubler Ross's five stages of grief, moves into a personal exploration of one's mortality, and ends with a harrowing look at what we're doing to the Earth. No amount of me describing it will do the exhibition justice, so come visit NMWA to see if for yourself.

So during a walkthrough, the curators take docents and other volunteers through the exhibition and provide insight into the work, the artist, and the exhibition structure. We were in the room focused on mortality when I go to a work entitled How Will I Die #9. The work depicts a woman (Chicago) in bed with a large cat lying next to her. The text in the work reads "Will I die in my own bed with my cat Pete by my side?"

Pete looks exactly like Keely.

Photography isn't allowed in this exhibit, so you have to take my word for it or go see it for yourself. I started laughing, which is a terrible reaction to a very serious subject, but I couldn't help it. I could actually see myself in this image in a way that I've never seen myself in a work of art. It was funny, depressing, bizarre, and comforting all at the same time. A few days later, the museum hosted a Fresh Talk with Chicago and Martha C. Nussbaum, a philosophy and law professor. Nussbaum wrote the essay in the new Chicago monograph about The End. During the talk, Chicago discussed the evolution of her feminism, and the idea of personal and global grief. Listening to the women discuss death and the extinction of the planet was a lot. At some point in the discussion, Chicago said, "If there's going to be change, it's going to be because people take it in their own hands." Obviously, she was talking about the damage we've done to the planet, but like a song lyric, I added my own meaning to this comment. It could be about politics, our personal lives, and my fear of things like buying a house and dying alone in bed with my cat. I can overthink everything or I can just go do it.

A few days later, I attended an event for the release of Patti Smith's new book, Year of the Monkey. This is the third time I've seen Patti Smith live, and the second book talk. (I saw her in concert in 2008 - the start of Old Lady Concert Rules posts.) The new book is a follow up to the book M Train, which was an odd book, told in a sort of stream of conscious way and focused on grief (loss of her husband, damage to her home after Hurricane Sandy). In M Train, Smith travels all over, but it's a focused wandering. Year of the Monkey is a travel book too, but one that blurs "fact, fiction, and dream." It takes place in 2016, a year where Smith lost two very close friends and was working through those losses. I haven't finished the book, which is short compared to both Just Kids and M Train, but it's a little harder to read because I can feel her grief throughout. She talks through the "cycles of death" during the book and her talk. It was a fitting companion to Judy Chicago. Both women were so open about about these private feelings and moments, but in completely different ways. Thinking about death and mortality for several days straight is emotionally exhausting; I can't imagine doing it while writing a book or working on an art exhibition. My brain was mush by the end of Smith's talk/musical performance.

About a week after the book talk, I presented at my first professional conference. My company won an award, and we were invited to take part in a panel during the conference associated with the award. Originally my boss was going to present, but in early September, she asked if I wanted to be on the panel instead. Without hesitation, I said yes. I was in the final stages of preparation for this presentation when the Chicago exhibit opened and Year of the Monkey was released. Imagine having all these thoughts about death and mortality and loss swirling around in your brain while also preparing for a major work event. I'm a very confident public speaker. I like to describe my comfort level as either having "the confidence of a much taller person" or "a mediocre white man talking." I can talk to anyone, especially if I'm passionate about the topic (this is why I'm a great docent). I love what I do, but I've always felt like I wasn't worthy since I fell into a career in learning and development (L&D). Impostor syndrome is real, y'all. I've presented at conferences before, but it was always sponsored by the company I worked for, and my expertise wasn't questioned because I literally helped build the product I was talking about. This conference was nothing like that. I was presenting to other L&D professionals, many of whom have been working in the field their entire careers. I was on a panel with two executives from two other organizations. I've been in a training/learning role since 2008, so I've been doing this for 10 years, but I still felt like the new kid going into the event.

I nailed it. I wore a blazer like a freaking rock star (if rocks stars wore blazers, I don't know their lives). I spoke about the successes we've had aligned our programming with the organization's goals, and shared the lessons we've learned along the way. I answered questions, I discussed strategy, I cracked a couple of appropriate jokes. People came up to me throughout the day and complimented my presentation and wanted to talk more about what we're doing. I've made a bunch of connections professionally. I finally feel like I'm part of the community. I don't think that would have happened had I not joined the organization I'm at today. I've had some doubts since starting, but this event really helped me see the value of the work me and the team are doing. Y'all, I'm a real professional.

What does any of this have to do with finding a realtor? I've been talking about buying a house since the summer, but did nothing about it until this week. I was stuck, thinking too much about everything, getting wrapped up in the stressful parts of buying a house (money, I'm talking about money), hating that I have to do everything by myself, and thinking I can't do it. Having spent several weeks in a row thinking very deeply about some very hard topics and having some real successes made me realize I just have to do this...and I can do this. I don't want to live in a nice, but not great overpriced apartment, dealing with crappy neighbors and stupid community policies (the resident gate is only open until 8 pm - what nonsense is this?). I don't want to pay for Keely to live in my apartment anymore; pet rent is a huge scam. Judy Chicago wasn't talking about buying property when she talked about change, but change only happens when we decide to do it. I want to enjoy where I live. I want to be part of a community. I want my own space. I'm an adult lady who can do things.


Coming soon to the Island: Glitter purse season is back, a Lazy Movie Weekend post, and I start my house hunt.

On Perfection

I'm thinking of buying a house. I've never owned a home before; my most permanent belongings are a car and some rare records. Since I moved out of my parents' house when I went to college, I've been fine with apartment living. My twenties and much of my thirties included several moves, and a stretch of time from roughly 2002-2012 when I traveled frequently (2 weeks per month) for work. An apartment made sense. It was permanent enough, but gave me the flexibility to say, move to California for two years without worrying about having to sell or rent property. I guess it also helps that I'm your resident single friend, so I don't have to worry about a spouse or kids and schools. It's just me and my cat son, and he doesn't care as long as he has a window, his bed, and food.

Now when I say house, I probably mean condo given where I live and the way real estate prices work around the DMV. If I wanted an actual house, I'd probably have to live in the middle of nowhere and drive four hours to work because NOVA has become the most expensive place in the world (I'm exaggerating slightly). Amazon is coming, and I assume that part of Jeff Bezos's plan to become a Bond villain is to drive up the cost of living so high in the area where I live that it will be deserted and he'll basically exist on a land island. Rent is worse, so really the smart thing to do is buy a house/condo. It's less expensive in the big picture, and would give me the one thing I really want: space.

I have hobbies. All of my hobbies include lots of stuff. As I write this, I'm sitting at my kitchen table (also my desk when I work from home), which is currently housing a button maker, stencils, an entire collection of pens, this laptop, two notebooks, my sewing machine (sitting on a chair), and tour notes for the museum. Under the table, are nine plastic bins that contain all of my glitter purse making supplies for Nyx 2020. If you go into the closet in my bedroom, you'll find all of the embroidery and other craft supplies I own and my larger sewing kit. I only bring those things out when I'm working on a project. My kitchen table would really like to be just a kitchen table.

Real estate is overwhelming, whether we're talking about renting or buying something. Yes, my parents and many of my friends are homeowners. I know at least seven realtors, none of whom live in my state, but I know them. That means nothing. It's still overwhelming and stressful. My shoulders are killing me just thinking about it. I'm uncomfortable with this process because I know very little about how it all works. Yes, I am researching and doing my part to understand, but it's still overwhelming. And a big part of why it is overwhelming is because it's risky and there are lots of unknowns within the process.

And that is the real problem. It's not the responsibility of home ownership so much as the fact that I don't know anything about what I'm about this journey that I'm about to embark on, and that is terrifying. I was listening to a podcast from Harvard Business Review this week called "Perfect is the Enemy," and it hit me hard. The podcast could have been about me. I'm a perfectionist and as such, it's hard to do things when I'm not 100% sure I can deliver or do something completely (halfway is not good enough for me). It's not in my nature. When I think about buying a house, I immediately go to the hundreds of things that could go wrong with doing so, rather than the positives I know exist. There are things I won't control in the process, and that makes me uncomfortable. I can't color code my way through this experience (maybe I can a little).

There were a few things in the podcast that made me say "that's me" (but not necessarily in a good way). My organizational skills tend to be very rigid, especially if I'm managing a project. While I'm fine with being flexible because the project scope or needs change, I still want to do things my way because I know my way is the best way (it's not always). I take failure very personally and even minor mistakes make me feel terrible. I don't often ask for help. I've been more aware of all of these things since starting my job two years ago, and have been trying to figure out a way how to balance it all and not drive myself or my colleagues crazy. There was a section on taking compliments that resonated too. I'm getting better on that front every day.

One of the podcast hosts said something a little later in the episode that definitely made me pause:

"There was a time, when I was younger, where especially being a perfectionist was kind of like a humble brag, like, I’m such a perfectionist. You know, you’re almost sort of proud of it....But then, over time, I started to realize, really for me, it was about internalizing other people’s expectations, and even sometimes just their imagined expectations."

This is exactly how I feel, and probably the way lots of women feel. We internalize so much of what we know or perceive others feel and it's exhausting. While I know that's now why I'm a perfectionist, I know my reaction to things when they don't go well is tied directly to this feeling. The hosts went on to discuss how as they go older, they stopped caring so much about those things they felt had to be perfect. They were more comfortable with who they are, their beliefs, and what they needed to be successful. It's not about not taking feedback, but using it in a way that will make you better and deciding what that actually means.

I think that's what people mean when they tell me how much I'm going to love being in my forties. It's like there's a magical line I've crossed that enables me to say, "Yes, I'm a perfectionist. I know this isn't always a positive thing, and I'm working on that. I also know that I don't care if you don't like the fact that I don't wear makeup all that often, have strong opinions about lots of things, like order and process, but still appreciate creativity and whimsy. I live my life for me, not you."

I don't have to be perfect. None of us have to be perfect. I can still love order and lists and my way of doing things, and not be perfect. I can step into the overwhelming, but ultimately (I hope) satisfying world of home ownership and be okay with the fact that it's overwhelming and I don't know what I'm doing. That doesn't mean I'll fail or not find a place to live. There are experts who will help me. Once they do, I can unleash my very thoroughly tested process for moving (it involves five steps) and dream of what color I'll paint my bedroom.

Please enjoy this very relaxing photo of Keely. He snores; it's very soothing.