I’ve been living in the past for a few days.
I’ve come back to the town where I spent my high school years and part of my adulthood. It’s as closed to a hometown as I can get. I’ve run into a lot of people I’ve known for years and spent time visiting with my friends, but I know this will likely be one of the last times I come here.
I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I have learned that to live in the past is to live in pain. Living in the future is to live with hope. The only problem is, I have to dispose of the accumulated past first and that is what I’m doing here.
My parents bought an old Victorian house when we moved here and I ended up living in it alone when they became ill and they both ended up in nursing homes. I was broke, overwhelmed, and hip deep in depression during much of that time. I was told by an attorney that my brother and I would not inherit the house because Mom and Dad were on Medicare/Medicaid and the state would take it. With that knowledge, we stopped maintaining it, stopped paying taxes, and abandoned the property figuring the state and the county could fight over it.
That didn’t happen.
I was informed last week by the man who paid the back taxes and who would obtain the property for the cost of them, that we still own it. All we have to do is pay the taxes and it stays ours.
This man had nothing to gain by informing us of this. He informed the people he was legally obligated to inform, my parents’ financial administrators. My brother assumed he was after some gain, but there isn’t any way for him to gain. In fact, if we pay the taxes he will lose the property, but he went through the trouble of locating my information to let me know anyway because it was the right thing to do.
The timing of this is what I would count as some pretty serious synchronicity. I had just started this version of the blog and was getting in-sight. I had for years assumed I didn’t have any money, but the whole time, I had this house. We could have sold it years ago and moved on to something better, but it wasn’t time. The Divine had other plans and I had more lessons to learn.
The house is not in good shape. It wasn’t when we lived there and now it’s even worse, but it was my home. It bothers me to think that it might be torn down. It’s close to two hundred years old and solidly build. If someone would be willing to put some money into it, it could be a home again and for less than the cost of building a new one. It would last longer than a new home, too. For the want of a little money, this house could be a home for another couple hundred years.
I’ve reached out to an appraiser, but have not had a return phone call. This, I have found, indicates that the Universe does not approve of that plan. So I’m taking the hint and going another route. It doesn’t matter what an appraiser thinks it’s worth. It matters what I think it’s worth and what a potential buyer thinks it’s worth.
I’ll be selling it to improve my future and cut the binds that hold me in my past and by doing so, I will give someone else their future hope.