Thinking about downsizing? Don't do anything stupid

I almost did

Dear Friends,

I’m selling the house I once thought it would be my forever home. I’m not quite downsizing, but I am simplifying.

I bought my current home when I was 68, counterintuitively trading up from an 800-square-foot apartment in New York City to a 3,000-square-foot, mid-19th-century townhouse upstate. I felt I had another house in me.

I planned to re-create a family base with enough room for my adult children and grandchildren to visit, even though they live hundreds or thousands of miles away.

Talk about wishful thinking.

The family visits have been intermittent yet wonderful. I have loved every minute of living in this home: its 11’ ceilings, generous natural light, and architectural splendor updated for modern living comfort.

I realize how much the house has contributed to my identity living in this community. I’m proud of my hands-on management oversight: installing central air conditioning, a new roof, a heating system, and dealing with periodic plumbing failures. Cosmetic upgrades to boot

I’ve never regretted the decision to take this on. Oddly, the house never felt “too big.”

Weirdly, it never felt too big. But it has become too much,

However, my beloved house is becoming an obstacle to other choices. No longer a feature in my existence; it is now a bug. The calculus of time/opportunity and value is no longer aligned.

As my brother pointed out, being Chief Maintenance Officer isn’t a lifestyle.

Had a pet project become my bete-noire?

The unlikely trigger of change

I’ve always loved the Caribbean. Everything About It. A friend who recently bought a condo on Nevis (St Kitts/Nevis) as an investment/second home extended an invitation.

An easy, direct flight from JFK - I couldn’t accept fast enough and soon was soaking up the sun and reflecting on many happy memories and my affection for the West Indies

Within a week, I was hooked on condo-mania. I, too, could invest in a condo (found one, natch, in a beautiful beachside community). I’d cover costs with rentals and enjoy a month or two out of North American winters.

Rinse and repeat, perhaps lengthening my stay in the years ahead. I envisioned myself part of an exotic expat community right out of a Grahme Greene novel.

I was all in. All I had to do was sell my much-appreciated home.

I then learned a few clouds lay on the horizon of a potential Caribbean Shangri-La.

A dependable Airbnb revenue doesn’t happen overnight. Many regulars book the same place every year as their seasonal home. Building a loyal clientele would take some time.

The place I was considering was a bit rough around the edges. Cosmetic upgrades were necessary, and managing that from a distance in another country posed logistical and oversight challenges.

I summoned the good sense to come home and think things over. I came out of my hallucinatory fever dream.

I concluded that what I really wanted was to make my life easier. Managing a condo 2,500 miles away was not the answer.

Hadn’t I heard of renting?

The answer: simplify

My intuition about selling this house is spot on. It takes too much energy, etc. See above: Done with being Chief Maintenance Officer. I took steps to list my house for sale.

As answers often do, this one came about unexpectedly. New friends invited me to dinner at their condo, on the edge of town, with spectacular views of the Catskill mountains and all of America beyond.

It wasn’t a neighborhood I knew well, but before I could take a sip of the welcoming gin and tonic, I thought: this I could do.

Plenty of space for the occasional guest, twenty-year-old construction, not 170. Many fewer steps. Laundry on the main floor. A condo HOA arrangement to manage the snow in the winter and mowing in the summer. Enough room for a small garden.

Then, in the way the Universe often winks, the following week, a unit with the exact same floor plan came to market. It was as close to perfect as it gets. I jumped.

My next home will be smaller, but not by a lot. It will require less maintenance, offer greater flexibility, and include a first-floor office that could become a bedroom should the stairs I now confront become too much.

Meanwhile, my current home has attracted interest; I hope there is a buyer in the wings.

Change is hard, but you can’t get there without shedding what must be shed. Believe me, I’ll be shedding.

Thanks for taking this journey with me. I’ll keep you in the loop.

See you next Saturday!

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