The Adventure Begins…

In 2013 I went shopping for my first home. House hunting in the tristate area was overwhelming. A mafia of realtors, mortgage bankers, lawyers, and sellers hustling for commission, while I contemplate the indemnity of a 30-year commitment. You dream of going shopping, you compile a list of everything you think you want. 

After months of looking at shoddy construction situated in dubious “ up and coming neighborhoods,” I  found a gem at a bargain price; my dream home, a three-story Victorian brick townhouse.

Authentic metal window awnings desperately clung to the exterior. The rout iron gate guarding a young rose bush in the front yard and the long staircase ascending to the double door entrance—the lined with wallpaper decorated by vintage sailboats. The hall was majestic. Natural light flooded the space, bouncing off the parquet floors.

The living room featured oversized windows and an original fireplace and crown molding.  The outdated kitchen outfitted in marigold reminiscent of the ’70s, redeemed by a pair of large windows overlooking the back deck.

The trees of late summer surrounded the outside like a menagerie. I could see myself serving homemade Mojitos and fish tacos to friends under paper lanterns accompanied by the sounds of FKJ. Stairs descending from the deck to a ground-floor apartment with a small yard all its own.

The railroad apartment had eyes/windows, a small living space, and a worn kitchen with an open floor. There was an unusual smell of mildew surrounding the area. Aha! I thought I’d live in this apartment and rent the top two floors. Once I renovate, it is sure to rent for at least the mortgage cost.

After a quick look at the unremarkable top floor (aside from the skylights,) I was ready to bid. I was beyond excited. Driving back to the downtown office, my realtor cautioned me to complete my due diligence regarding the neighborhood. Appreciating the suggestion, I dismissed the idea that anything could deter my plan. She had no idea who I was: born in Harlem and raised in the Bronx; I’m no stranger to gritty areas. I got this! We continued to turn the corner to find a group of 20 something men congregating in front of one of several liquor stores. “Oh look,” bachelors, I thought, making a mental note of potential hazards. 

My realtor cautioned me to “do my due diligence” before making an offer  as we drove past a group of young men assembling in front of the liquor store in the middle of the afternoon, “Flashing Yellow Sign.”

In short; My bid was accepted. The inspection revealed some urgent health/safety issues.  I was approved for 250.000.00 the mortgage was 190,000. I left about 50,000.00 for repairs and a little wiggle room for surprises. Factor the risk of an “up and coming neighborhood,” a fossil of promise and hope. Having taken the light rail for my second visit to the property, I caught a glimpse of reality. The station was full of lost souls. Recent ER patients released into the streets still wearing plastic id bracelets, leaning on crutches, with swollen limbs bursting beneath medical wraps. There were groups of local drunks with swollen purple lips, sitting beneath the trees as if on vacation. I decided the risks were cutting it too close to the edge, not to mention my father was not keen on the endeavor. It occurred to me that everyone involved, my realtor, the lawyer, the contractor, would profit from my investment. I would have a bill stretching 30 years. Do I want to be chained to this house for the next 30 years?  

What now?  Having spent my entire adult life working toward this particular goal as much as I wanted to bring it forward. Experience has taught me; to listen to myself. Everything told me it was either not the right time or the right time for the dream.

I planned a birthday trip to London, then onto Paris Aix en Provence and Monaco. I needed inspiration for new goals.