Houses are composed of bricks and mortar, and are described in square feet and pound signs. Homes are full of future dreams and hopes, of family Christmases, and special birthdays; of engagement proposals, football failures and trophies, niggling arguments and comforting hugs. They are made up of your life.
When the time comes that your home no longer fits your life, and you need to move on, it’s rarely without a backward glance and a nostalgic twinge. That moment when you close the front door, and hand over the keys can be a bit of a wrench, even when your stay there has been relatively short.
You see, we put a lot of ourselves into a home. It is a bit like a mirror, reflecting back our personality and style; our philosophy and our approach to life.
Each home becomes a chapter then, of ourselves and of the lives we lead. I have moved 37 times – really! I have had, in essence, 37 chapters. I think of my life in terms of the house I was living in at the time. The house I call home now, is a very sweet, stone built cottage, surrounded by green fields and with views over stunning fells. It sounds idyllic – to me at least. Not everyone would love it. And it wouldn’t suit every life chapter, but it suits mine.
If you’ve completed your chapter in the home you live in, and it’s time to move on, consider this – it’s now time to hand your house over to someone new, so that they can start their life chapter in your home, just as you once did, and as you are about to do, someplace new.
A home has to really fit us. It has to feel like somewhere we want to come back to after a hard day’s work, and somewhere that we can celebrate life’s little victories.
If a home doesn’t fit, no amount of clever marketing, glossy photographs and eager estate agent will convince us to buy it.
But if you walk in and it feels like you’ve come home, you’ll buy it. And the asking price is then almost immaterial. If it is at all in your reach, you’ll make it work; you’ll find a way. Because you’re home.