RUING THE RURAL

It’s time to give this another try. Five years ago, I decided to sell my house. I needed to escape rural life. I felt extremely isolated as a single gay man. The whole move-to-the-country notion had become a horrible, failed experiment.

But just because I’d made the decision didn’t mean that the universe would be cooperative. For twenty-two months, I went through three realtors and the house got little more than a few sniffs. Apparently it smelled bad.

I happen to live in a stagnant real estate market. The value of the house has declined in the ten years I’ve lived here. (Statistically, the decline began three months after I moved in. I’ve never had a good business sense.) I will take a loss; the only question is how big. Still, I must flee. The events of the past year have made it crystal clear that living here is literally killing me. Every day is a struggle. Turns out I am not meant to live as a hermit. I am not thriving here. It’s not even close.

So what’s next? I can’t think that far ahead. The house could languish on the market for months or, yes, years. To contemplate some other future only leads to frustration and despair. One step at a time.

Sell, baby, sell.