A Promise.
I remember the first time I informed my dad that I would never rent when I grew up.
This was the same conversation in which I promised him I wouldn’t get a tattoo or pierce anything besides my ears (which was all recorded of course, as proof to hold me to my word).
Sitting proud and stubborn in the front seat of his truck, my “educated” 10 year old self couldn’t comprehend paying money every month for a place that would never be mine. Money being wasted on a space I didn’t own was not in my future, I sternly informed my dad.
Of course, I did rent. I had to.
It’s all part of the “adult experience”, especially during my college years, and more importantly when I was out of school and discovering myself and my place in the world.
Once I found out that my place in the world was the very place I had sworn I would never return to (Alaska, she’s got a hold on me!), I looked into settling down and establishing some roots in the community I grew up in.
Course, I like doing things the hard way: I wanted to build.
I watched as my parents built their custom home and I found that my loan budget should comfortably allow me to build a cosy little cottage for one.
I didn’t need five bedrooms, four baths, a monster garage, and a shed for all my toys.
I needed a couple bedrooms, a closet, a space for my clawfoot tup, a garage for one itty bitty FIAT, and a catio for my cat.
So I waltzed into one of the local mortgage companies with my yellow purse and pink ensemble and notified the lender what my plans were.
“I have a builder. I have a floorpan. I have already creatively envisioned the interior, how do I get set up with a loan?”
*slow down Betsey, I’m sure the lender was thinking.
What came next was a reality check, filled with complicated words I didn’t understand, most notably “equity.”
She told me that in order for me to get a new construction loan, I would have to have a certain percentage of “equity”, which for me, did not yet exist.
My builder? My floorpan? My creative vision for the inside? That would have to go on hold.
Holding back tears as I was kindly informed that I would not be getting a new construction loan for my dream home, I faintly listened as the lender told me I should look into buying a new home, to build equity, then use that later to build my dream house, something I had already been told hundreds of times already by other adults, but was too stubborn to take to heart.
Coming from a professional though? Kind of hard not to ignore.
I was devastated, to say the least. I had already been looking at all of the (in my eyes) pitiful homes in the area that were for sale, which was part of the reason I wanted to build a new home. But it was my only option.
So months went by. I found a realtor that was a dear family friend and went to listing after listing, all the while being approved for a loan.
A loan, by the way, that I didn’t realize I was miraculously qualified for.
X amount of money in the bank, good credit score, solid work history, and no debt? I had it all without even realizing it.
The search continued, with a pessimistic attitude coming from the buyer (yes, that was me) until one day, as my mom and I were heading to a garage sale, we stumbled upon a little yellow house on the corner that was For Sale By Owner. We had seen it before, heard it was going to eventually be for sale, and here it was, like a beacon in the night.
That day, I got a tour of the inside and I knew right away that this was just what I needed. An offer was placed a few days later and then began the long and laborious process that goes into buying a home.
There were negotiations, addendums, home inspections, paperwork, more paperwork (did I mention the paperwork?), and then the appraisal came in.
And then things halted, paused, were put up for “consideration.” The owner apparently believed the house was worth more than the appraisal, but didn’t seem to understand that I could not get a loan for more than what the house was worth.
Remember, I like doing things the hard way, and buying a home that’s For Sale By Owner is definitely buying a home the hard way.
So after weeks of being patient, which was oh so painful, I was now faced with the all too realistic possibility that the sellers could back out because I could not pay what they wanted.
I had already thought about giving up more times than I can remember, but I had such a solid support system that encouraged me through the whole process, that I kept the hope alive.
And then miraculously, during one of my afternoon naps, my phone began buzzing.
Disgruntled from being interrupted during my beauty sleep, I groggily looked at my messages, eyes widening cartoon style when I read this:
“It’s a freaking miracle! The seller will do it!”
And then came the tears, but this time, and for the first time, they were happy tears.
The next few weeks passed in a flurry of signing EVEN MORE PAPERWORK, setting up services, packing, moving, and spending my first few nights in my new home.
Sitting in my new house on my new (but old) sofa and with my new kitty (Guji! I can’t wait for you to meet her!), I take this whole process in and revel in the joy that I kept that promise to myself from so many years ago.
I thank my dad, for teaching me the value of saving my money and investing it in my future. I thank my mom for continuing to encourage me during the whole process, especially the times in which I wanted to quit. I thank Kelly Griebel and her team for making buying my first home enjoyable and who believed and pushed for me when I needed it most. And most importantly, I thank my stubborn 10- year- old self for setting into motion the first steps it took in order for me to one day buy my very own house, all by promising that I would never rent as an adult.
It was a promise well kept.
