We did it! We got the property I mentioned last week, and we’re moving to Vancouver Island! Woohoo!
…Let the freak-out begin.
Okay, that’s not quite accurate – the freak-out is already well under way. Apparently I’m an overachiever, because I started the process as soon as we got serious about the property:
- “OMG, what if we don’t get it?”
- “OMG, what if we do get it?”
- “OMG, somebody else is looking at it; what if they offer before us?”
- “OMG, our offer is in and the seller has counter-offered but they got another offer in the mean time! Will they back out of our deal because they know our only recourse is to sue them?”
- “OMG, we got it! What if we move out there and hate it?”
- “OMG, what if our money somehow gets lost between our bank and the lawyer’s trust account?”
- “OMG, what if there’s some freakish land use regulation we somehow failed to uncover during our (read ‘my’ – Hubby is much more easygoing about these things) obsessive due diligence and it turns out we can’t build?”
- “OMG, what if we do get the house built and then the creek has a record-breaking flood that even comes over our big setback and grade elevation?”
…And on and on, all of it leading to, “OMG, we’re gonna lose everything and die homeless, penniless, and starving!”
In my saner moments (and let’s not quibble about my definition of sanity), I realize this may be a teeny exaggeration. But hey, at least if my book sales go flat there’s a promising career for me as one of those wild-eyed doomsayers waving a “World Is Ending” sign on a street corner.
I don’t mean to give the impression that I’m all gloom and tragedy – I’m actually euphoric about moving out of the city and designing my dream kitchen in my dream house. It’s just that I’ve been cursed with both a logical brain and an overactive imagination.
My logical mind wants to make sure all bases are covered, so it maps out worst-case scenarios and their corresponding safeguards and action plans. Meanwhile, my crazy imagination seizes those worst-case scenarios and spins them into all sorts of cataclysmic potential outcomes. It’s a little tiring; but on the upside, I’m rarely shocked by even the most bizarre twists of fate.
Laid-back Hubby just goes with the flow. While we were running around looking at properties and talking to realtors and planners and builders and bankers and lawyers, I turned to him, totally frazzled, and asked, “Isn’t this stressing you out?”
He just smiled and shrugged. “Nope.”
Some days I wish I could live inside his head instead of my own.
But now it’s his turn to stress out because he has to clean up and consolidate his packrat-jumble of tools and toys and ‘treasures’; while my stuff is permanently organized and ready to go at a moment’s notice. So maybe I don’t want to be him after all.
I guess as long as we’re not freaking out simultaneously, it’ll all work out. But if you ever see a wild-eyed pair waving “The World Is Ending” signs, and if the female half of the couple has long red hair, you might want to detour to the other side of the street.
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