Here

Here

How did I get here; to this place on the planet? As I write this, I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Yet I am angry. This was part of my life's plan, this move. But not for this reason, at this time or under these circumstances. It is very expensive here. Health care is unaffordable even with a good and steady income. I had imagined earning my way by investing in my home, in myself not stumbling here by losing it.  I am not alone, but I feel I am. 

I work for the State of California.  Government is never a glorious employer, but once upon a time, a consistent and steady paycheck and client based leadership.  Now almost any government job is considered waste, the same people who license your doctor, your contractor, who keep criminals behind bars, and oh yes, license bars; are now considered public enemy number one.  "I'll sweep the Bureaucrats out of Sacramento" Schwarzenegger stated in that sanctimonious accent I learned to despise.  KHaleefoorneeea, he'd say; then I would turn off the television. I am still here in government and he is gone. But I am broke and he is not, he wins. He said once and I'll never forget it, "I know the economy is bad. I have friends who had to sell their VACATION homes, their BOATS (Serious nodding all around); idiot.

Home ownership had been my dream growing up. My family moved every year or more, until I was in high school.  I was tired of moving.  I wanted a home of my own, to control my own destiny, fate, daily life.  I wanted to know where I was going to be next year and the year after that. A luxury I thought then, impossible now for so much of America's population. 

I referred to my second house as a real house because the first house I owned was a modular.  I decided modular homes weren't real houses, they were not solid. You can huff and puff, and blow those things down.  They are constructed on the cheap for the short term. Perhaps, if I had only 15 years left to live, it might be perfect. That first modular house was located in one of Sacramento's better ghettos and is a story all its own.  For now, the second house, the real house represents my real loss. 

I was in my late 30's, by the time I bought the modular, always financially challenged, but employed and credit was starting to flow a little easier for us middle-class folk.  I had sold the modular for twice what I paid for it five years earlier.  I paid off my bills and was debt free.  I gave up on Realtors to help me find a house. It was difficult enough to sell a trailer on private property in the ghetto, but I did it.  I moved into an apartment, deciding the market was moving too fast for me.  I considered waiting out the frenzy, and letting things settle.  However, I was fearful of getting left behind. If I didn’t act fast, I would be stuck as a renter.  But as luck would have it one day, after living in the apartment a couple of months I got irritated because the apartment complex would not let me have a satellite dish. I had been a homeowner for the previous five years and had grown accustomed to having things my way in my own home.  I wanted to buy satellite TV, but they wouldn't let me. 

I went out for a drive that afternoon, on the hunt for a house, my own space.  I needed a solid place to call my own, and start building toward my future, my kids college years, and my retirement.  I found my second house that afternoon, on a quiet street on the bluff over Lake Natoma. It was small and neat.  There was no for sale sign, I just noticed the lock box on the screen door. I looked the house up on-line and called the Realtor.  I met him at the house with the owner the next day and we made the deal on the sidewalk out in front. $210,000 was a crap-load of money, but I was sure.  I knew, if I could get into it, I could stay.  My career had nowhere to go but up, slowly and steadily. I bought the house from the original owner. It was built in 1972; she had grown old there and was ready for a rest home.  I would do the same, in 40 years, they could carry me out. That was December 2002. 

I moved out of my small, solid, and neat home on September 10, 2010, only 8 years later. But unforeseen factors: A career stall with promotional freezes, surgery, and the overall economy made the house impractical and impossible to keep.  Moving out was like breaking up with someone I loved because they wouldn’t get off the couch and get a job.  I still loved that house. But I was angry, disappointed and hurt, and tired of working so hard for ungrateful legislators, elected officials and the public, to go home to a house now driving me into poverty for retirement. I gave up the struggle and the bank sold it to an older couple who had never been homeowners for literally half price. The bank, my bank refused to work with me at all.

I'll never be sure if I was more in love with the house, or the garage.  I would sigh as I turned the corner of my street, sweet peace.  I felt fancy, and in charge with that garage remote control.... up goes the door, in goes my car, and I am home; secure; neat, solid, perfect. I remember smiling involuntarily those first few weeks and for the first year even, coming home to a home.  I was sure that if my new neighbors knew where I came from, well... no one on that street appreciated my home more than I did.

And I wanted to appreciate this new place too, in Monterey California, two blocks from the ocean, and certainly one of the most beautiful places on earth. I didn't want to waste time being bitter, and sad.  But some changes are hard to accept.  I am here for a promotion and a new start.  I am here to break the cycle of indecision, and financial regret.  But mostly, I am here because I am not there.  I am not in my home on the bluff, in my 1064 square feet of pure peacefulness, my garage, my yard, my piece of dirt.  And I never will be again.