Last night I cried, and as I lay here writing I clicked this pic of my house. I love my house. I really love my house. It is an older house, built in 1911 in downtown Salt Lake. I have lived here for 20 years. My children grew up here, I’ve fallen in love with my husband one thousand times behind these walls. I’ve lost family and pets over the years, my home has given me safety and comfort. We’ve fought and made love in these rooms.
We have gone over and over our financial situation. We pay our bills, we pay our mortgage. We are in no danger of loosing our home, however, we have very little left after our responsibilities are taken care of. I recently borrowed money to fix our roof, it’s a big house, repairs are never ending and expensive.
We have so much we want to do and see, which just isn’t feasible if we stay here. We need to downsize, we both know this. The Thought of selling sends me into a depressive tailspin.
We want to travel. We’re fairly certain that with the housing market in Salt Lake as it is, we’d walk away with the ability to purchase a smaller home out right. Seems like a no brainier right? Easier said than done. We’re enbedded like ticks. My art studio is huge and amazing. My husband has a 900 sq. Foot shop out back. We’re unlikely to have this in a cheaper house.
I am so torn. I don’t have to decide any time soon, the house is need of a lot of work to get the most money out of it, I have time. In the meantime I’m shattered knowing it’s really the only option if we’re to explore this world more. Priorities suck.