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cyclone
How do you do it, oh friends of mine? Vacate your premises in a timely fashion while living your lives, raising your kids, working your jobs and closing your loans. I’ll bet your boxes are properly labeled, too.
I just moved. Or more specifically, some very strong men came to my house, loaded a truck full of my belongings drove them across town and unloaded them in my new abode. I’ve made numerous trips along the same trail with countless loads of boxes, files, photos, artwork and armloads of clothes. It took them about three hours, it’s taken me months. The new house is coming together, the old one is being prepped to sell, and aside from the stubbing of toes I am in heaven…and hell.
I’m a pretty organized person. I know where I put the Phillips screwdriver, keep the chaos at arm’s length and can crush a to-do list with one hand. None of this prepared me for a move.
I started with plenty of time, and then a flurry of good fortune took a hold of my life, leaving me with higher priorities than packing tape and ARC pick-ups. As I chipped away in what little spare time I had, I found little energy for the real task at hand, DECIDING. Every single thing you own must be dealt with, handled, and decided upon: does it have purpose or does it have meaning or does it fit? If the answer is no, pitch it. Easy at the start, but soon enough poof skirts are begging for a comeback and junk drawers scream to be sorted through and that eclectic offering called your stuff becomes a living nightmare of need, prompting the ashram fantasy.

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another.”
– Anatole France

As a Realtor I facilitate this transition for others every day, managing the details of the business transaction while they care for the mountain of moving minutia, but it’s a whole ‘nother Oprah when you’re the one moving that mountain. Whether initiated by you or forced upon you, change is always a molecular shake up. No matter how much you anticipate a benevolent future or care to close a chapter of the past, a move holds all the complexities of closure. I am an expert in change; life has thrown me more curves than the Coney Island Cyclone and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. This one is one I have created, and though I have a few ideas about why (urban living, closer to my community, more manageable home, #EastHighSchool) I know there is still much to learn in the process aside from where to put the guest towels. As soon as they find their place, I am receiving.

I’m moving! Well actually, I am planning to move. Next year. That’s how long it will take me to prepare my current home as a rental, give the tenants in the other house notice, and most importantly, let my son finish eighth grade at his current school. The idea came to me this summer when my old friend/former neighbor/current client called to discuss her options regarding the inspection objection on her new home. “We’re sitting in the backyard having wine. I wish you were in the hood, you could come over.” And that’s when it hit me; I’m too far away from my friends! I’ve been rumbling a plan around in my head since then, but I knew it was in the cards when my thirteen year old jumped in the car one day and stated, “Mom, I don’t think these suburban kids are my people.” Oh, I feel ya, babe.
Moving to Denver from Los Angeles, we settled in to Congress Park for the first ten years. The boys went to Denver Public schools and loved them. I loved the sense of community I felt; summers under the elm trees at the Congress Park pool, cool autumn evenings on the soccer fields, and all the school activities with the kids and parents I was growing up with. I felt safe, and I felt loved. People got my sense of humor, we shared our sorrows, our secrets and our extra tomatoes when the gardens were good. As our family’s needs and the market changed, we crept slowly southward. I kept the boys in Denver Public Schools as long as I could but the daily commute in the winter was fraying my sanity and my tread. I began to notice my urge for the urban as I kept putting buyers into my favorite neighborhoods; Park Hill, Congress Park, Washington and Platt Parks, Mayfair, (I could go on) but never realized it was all part of my secret plan. Now that Gabe has decided he wants to forgo the big suburban high school experience to attend East with his best friend and the other members of his “tribe”, I’m out of the walk-in closet and all in!
I grew up in the suburbs, have nothing against them in general or my neighborhood in particular. Actually I like it here in this funky little sweet spot called Dream House Acres. Free from the covenants and cul de sacs that make me claustrophobic, I love the wide, hilly streets, the mid-century modern houses and the mountain views from my back patio. I don’t even mind the 20 minute commute when I choose to make it; I’m just a city girl. I need the proximity to the arts and cultural centers, the theaters, restaurants and farmers markets that pop up spring through fall. Most of all, I need to be around a wide variety of people and the sense of community that Denver offers.
Why do I bring this up, you ask? As a real estate agent, I spend my days and into the nights helping movers and shakers change up their lives. While I’m focused on the business of buying and selling homes that make these moves worthwhile, my clients are focused on the mental, emotional, physical and financial planning that leads up to a big change in your habitat. Following a page out of my own playbook, I’ve pulled out the Task Timeline Template which I lovingly bestow upon my clients.

I have completed phase one; Making The Decision. Phase two, Preparing the House, will take much longer; pulling up carpet, throwin’ down a little love on the hardwood floors, the painting, slight upgrades to the kitchen and baths…slight? Who am I kidding? And along the way,I will partake in my favorite slice of Virgo heaven— PURGING! When you think about it, there is no way to move without making a decision about every single thing you own. What stays, what goes, how many sets of socket wrenches do I really need, will I really wear this? Thank god I have a year.

Taking the time to wrap up the dishes and the memories this house holds, I will be mindful to keep the valuables and leave the rest behind. A fresh coat of paint, like a white sheet of paper, lets the new occupants write their own stories on these walls (not in the literal sense, I hope), as I move forward to the next chapter of life. Painting the new place.
If you’re ruminating on such things~ buying or selling, up or downsizing, Spanish Olive vs. Navajo White~ give me a call. We can share tips as we scrub grout and fantasize about the new digs. After all…I’m improving my skills just for you.