Day 31: A little voice called hope

My mom alerted me to a new listing in Alger Heights today. I half-heartedly pulled up Zillow to check it out, expecting to find a dinky backyard, an ugly exterior and zero charm. The Brooklyn Street failure has clearly drained the optimism right out of me. Nothing compares. Plus it’s winter. I’m wary about making such a big decision when the ground is covered in snow. Or in West Michigan’s case, covered in drab.

What if the neighbors let the shrubs grow wild and don’t mind yellow grass? What if their front lawn is littered with junk when the temperatures rise? What if the whole block is unkempt? That’s going to affect me come time to resell.

One part of me says give it up. Wait until the buds blossom this Spring. A fresh new flock of homes will be on the market, and one is sure to be yours.

But on the heels of the pessimism and justification there’s that little voice that pipes up to discourage quitting. Every time. So I spend my weekends going to open houses. I spend a few evenings a week perusing GRAR and Zillow, just in case I missed something. I even look at houses I know I won’t like or can’t afford, just to give myself that extra leg up on home values. (I’m sure my realtor loves that (note the sarcasm), but it never shows. Patience is his virtue.)

Here goes nothing, I thought, as I swiped through the photos on my Droid. And that’s when I saw the front door. Hmm… there’s the charm I’m looking for. And ugly exterior? I swiped backwards. Are those rocks. I love rocks. And the backyard seems to be a decent size. The kitchen even has room for a small table, which was a must-have requirement that dropped off a while back.

I looked at the house again just now. Gosh, that door is spectacular. My stomach is doing flip flops right now… Maybe this will be the one! Thanks for your persistence, Mom, and thanks, little voice called hope inside my head, for always making room for optimism and perseverance.

I'm in love with this door.