A few months ago, I was standing outside waiting to meet my agent and tour another home outside of my family’s budget (we all do it). Despite all the commotion about job loss in the region, at this point, the last two homes we bid on went for about $100k over asking to full cash buyers in typical DMV real estate market fashion. That’s when a sprightly elderly couple walked by, saw me, and assumed they needed to intervene and save me.
“Are you alright? Is this man bothering you?” the woman said, gesturing toward my agent.
That’s how I met “Grace” (the nickname I’ll give her for the purposes of this newsletter).
After we all laughed off the misunderstanding—my agent wasn’t harassing me, just doing his job—Grace and her partner asked what I was up to. When I explained I was house hunting, their eyes lit up.
“Well, we’re actually thinking about selling,” they said, almost conspiratorially.
Since then, Grace and I stayed in touch. Then one day, she called. Her daughter lived on the other side of the country, and after three decades in the same house, Grace was ready to make the move west. Did I want to see her place?
Of course, I braced for disaster. The house would be falling apart. The price would be astronomical. Something would go terribly wrong because that’s just how these things work in the real world.
Well,...
The house was lovingly maintained for over 30 years. The price? Below market. And even though the agent shopped the home off-market to other interested buyers, Grace held the house for me. She said she looked up my background online and decided I was “perfect for this place.”
“I’m waiting for Jenny’s offer,” she told her agent.
It was unbelievable.
I watched this woman do something I wasn’t sure people in the world still did, choose heart over the highest bidder. It was personal, intimate, serendipitous. Like something you’d see in a movie. But it was happening to me.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did.
Now I’m officially a Maryland homeowner, here to stay—at least for now.
We signed over ownership together, and the title company said this was the first time in over 15 years they did something like that.
One of the most difficult pieces of journalism I ever wrote told my story of feeling invisible to educators during multiple periods of housing insecurity as a child. And it has been quite the journey watching the transience of my childhood follow me as an adult who has moved almost every single year for the last 15 years. From homelessness to diplomatic life, forces have moved me around so frequently that I stopped putting up photos in the places I lived.
Now, as I lay on a bed that I hope to be mine for the next 10 years (because I think I’ll need a new bed after a while), I’m excited to put up a few pictures. I want to put up pictures of friends coming over, my boys growing up, my husband and I celebrating more anniversaries, and even some takes of me doing the work I love as a journalist.
Glad to be back! Glad to be home.
At a time when there are so many dark stories in the headlines, I hope this one offers you a little levity.
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