Remember that story I wrote in March about making the decision to rent my sweet, little cape cod? The one I fell head over heels with the minute Mark and I saw it? Turns out that short-lived experience was a disaster in many ways and in the immediate aftermath I realized that the landlord life was not for me. A week after the renter moved out I met a realtor and started the process of selling it. For the last six weeks I have woken up every morning ticking off an endless list of things I needed to do, going to the house multiple times a day and hiring people for mulching, painting, and hauling. When I went to bed every night I mentally added things to the list, slept awful, and never felt like I would get to the finish line. Last week while I was cleaning sinks and toilets in a final push, Mike was outside mowing. I was running on empty – physically and emotionally. Spending every day there alone with decades of memories swirling around me and not a single magic wand hidden in a…
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