Everything you think when selling a house

‘I called the realtor,’ I said to my friend on the phone. And suddenly it was real. The thousand-and-one tasks that still needed to be done, we finished in a few weeks, there was a measurer at the door to measure everything, and we filled out an endless list of items. Leaving behind, for takeover, remains. Our house is for sale, but that certainly doesn't happen without a hitch or some rather remarkable thoughts in the middle of the night.

1. At least once a day (and night) pure panic takes over me. Heart rate through the roof, big nostrils from hard breathing, sweat in my hands. It’s such a delightful house and look at that lovely garden and that view. Wáárom was I selling this again? I stop. I stay. No one is getting me out of here with twenty horses. I’m not selling anything anymore.

2. By the way, I also suffer from sales shame, which is probably because we’re not going to live here indefinitely. The weekend before the photographer came, I only dared to tell my neighbors. Maybe we even thought about selling without a sign in the garden. Which would of course be incredibly foolish. It feels a bit like rejecting the neighbors. Which is strange, because I don’t know the best people that well.

3. On the note from the photographer, it said I had to iron my duvet cover, so there I was. For the first time in my 35-year life. Trying to figure out how to make sure my freshly ironed end wouldn’t end up crumpled on the floor again. Sweat was on my forehead and a few other unspecified places. And when I finally made the bed, a crumpled middle piece grinned at me cheerfully. How. Do. People. Do. This? The ironing chapter was clearly missing in my upbringing.

4. And wháááre are we going to live? It seemed like such a good idea to sell one house first, but suddenly this homeless situation feels a petit peu awkward. Anyone want to lend a house for a few months (for a fee of course) somewhere between Woerden and Amsterdam starting in October? Slide into my DM.
*breathes in and out in a paper bag

5. With every checked-off thousand-and-one task, my friend and I say to each other: ‘That we’re only doing this now, huh? Just look how beautiful.’ Every baseboard makes the house look so much better and we understand even less why we let it sit for so long. Our intention: to finish everything before we move somewhere.

6. You know what’s also weird? Other people are going to live in our house. Between the walls where I laugh, cry, dance, and even work all day. They’ll be standing with a cup of coffee looking at my view, barbecuing with friends in my garden, and cooking in my kitchen (although that one does need replacing, another loose end). I just hope they will love this place as much as we do. Although that almost can’t be otherwise.

*Suddenly hears the song ‘Should I stay or should I gooohooo’ in her head.