Under Water

I recently did a very grown up thing - I put an offer in on my very first home - it was scary, exciting and everything in between. 

I had been looking at places to rent and buy since the landlords put my current place on the market last summer.  I was looking, but not going to showings … enter the end of January … when a place came up that I connected with.  With a slight nudge from a friend, I booked a walk through (yes, with said friend), which was fast followed by another walk through, a meeting with a mortgage broker to understand what I qualified for, carrying costs, closing costs etc.  

Essentially I went from a slow burn to a five alarm blaze.  

As I get close to clearing my final condition - I keep getting that anxious pit in my stomach.  At first I thought it was related to the closing costs, moving costs etc. I thought they were making me nervous, making this more real.  

Spoiler … not the cause.  I suddenly have a massive commitment … one I’m making to this home, one I’m making to myself.  That’s scarier than anything I’ve done to date.  Sounds silly right?   Hear me out … 

While I’ve lived in my current home for a double digit number of years, leaving was only ever a matter of giving 60 days notice - or one rent payment.  I could walk away, no strings attached within 60 days … there is a certain freedom to that, if my whole world blew up - 60 days … a mortgage, home ownership … that’s a different kind of weight.  

That realization forced me to stop, I thought I had dealt with all those threads … sighs … apparently not.  

The brain is an interesting thing … it immediately questioned if that’s also the reason I leave jobs … staying too long in one place, can’t make that a pattern.  

Except … I can.  I do.  

Yes, I average about five years across employers.  Part of that was circumstance, part opportunity, and part, well, I had done the thing I was hired to do.  The value I was hired to provide had reached its natural climax, staying would be levelling out, feeling like I wasn’t meeting my potential, continuing to add value - to my people, my programs, myself.  Leaving wasn’t an act of cowardice - leaving was always a well-timed exit, tied to an opportunity for my continued professional growth and development.  Sighs.  The sky isn’t falling.  Relief.  

So, rent versus buy … I’ll leave the financial debate to the experts.  I have my own beliefs on this, but I digress.  

The issue isn’t about growing up or being responsible, I am both of these things.  I treat my rental like it was my own - with obvious limitations - but you get the gist. Being a grown-up isn’t scary … except for not having summers off, it’s always been fun.  Independence, not asking permission to go places or negotiating priorities … I don’t even mind paying the bills … It has its stressful moments, but so did childhood - I mean, I do not miss exams, or studying or that horrible, gut wrenching feeling I used to get in the moments waiting outside the exam room, waiting to start … yuck!   

Do I regret making the offer?  No.  I know it's the right thing for me … The right move, right next step … It just feels big.  

When I was in my teens I used to go cliff jumping with my friends (read: we are going down a rabbit hole). There was an abandoned quarry that kids used to jump at.  The first time we went I was terrified.  My brain needed to understand why I could see the bottom, the equipment - the quarry had been abandoned because it had flooded with water - after I jumped, how did I get out, how deep was the water - no one actually knew the answer to that, but everyone knew there was no chance you would touch … some of my friends were teenage boys, they had tried, several times, you couldn’t touch.  I was terrified but jumped anyway.  The most amazing feeling was the few seconds where I was suspended in air - it felt like freedom, like anything was possible.  Then you hit the water … The swim to the surface, that’s where the overthinking, the panic kicked in.  The feeling like I didn’t have enough air to make it back to the surface.  

That’s the stage of the jump I’m in now.  I’m under water, kicking my way to the surface, feeling like I might run out of air.  

The funny thing is, I jumped hundreds of times that summer.  Every time I had that moment where I paused before I jumped, that moment where I had to breathe and trust.  It was always followed by sheer joy - being suspended in air and that feeling of freedom - every time.  Followed by the fear that I didn’t have enough air while kicking my way to the surface.  We would spend hours there, jumping, climbing and jumping again.  I always forgot the fear, I always found the courage to jump, I always loved those afternoons.  

I’m in the water … I’ve done the research, asked the questions, accessed the risks.  I’m ok, it’s just that moment of panic, the intersection between the old path and the new one.  It will pass.  It will be replaced by the feeling of knowing - knowing I’m where I’m meant to be, knowing I’m home.  

Leaving this place will be filled with all the feels.  I’m leaving on my terms, for my reasons … I’ve always needed that and I’ve always been allowed that.  For that I’m grateful.  It’s time.  I know that too.  My brain is doing everything it's designed to do … trying to keep me safe, trying to protect me … I can breathe through that … I can see the surface … The surface is where I laugh and feel alive and am in my flow state … The surface is where I swim to the rock face and begin to climb … Climb towards the next jump …

I’m under the water but I have what I need to get to the surface.