Regrouping

Our plan to sell our house and to see a boat we liked very much down in Panama hit a little snag. That being that we don't seem to be selling the house. We had some people take a very serious look at our ancient adobe and decide it wasn't right for them. They looked long and hard. The house has some sort of magic about it that makes a certain kind of person fall in love with it, and it's rather inexpensive as houses go in this day and age, but it also needs some work.

For years now, we've invested heavily in our art making. It's been our priority since, oh since forever. That means using whatever spare money we could generate on art supplies or trying to sell art. So we haven't done much with the house other that remove a few non load bearing walls to create space for Dagny to work. As a result, there is a fair amount of comestic work that needs doing. This is an obstacle for anyone wanting a house they can move into and just unpack. It's also one reason the house is priced below market.

So, we accept that it isn't pristine, and that frustrates immediate sales. And we have little patience for waiting for that perfect buyer to show up on our doorstep. So what do you do?
In our case, we regroup, rethink. Maybe even take a moment to listen to what the universe is telling us. A wise person doesn't push against the universe. It isn't healthy or fun. If the message is that it isn't the moment to go sailing, well okay. What then?

Well, seeing as plan A failed, we move to plan C (plan B is always "jump over the side" but in New Mexico it's not as functional as it was when we formed it during our boating days.). And what is plan C? We fix up the house. If we had money, that would be simple. But in our case, it means taking the house off the market, get a home equity loan of some sort, use part ot pay off the van and the rest to get the work done.

Then we... well, we aren't sure what happens next. The future is a fuzzy place. Maybe we rent it out and join the carnival... Well, probably not a carnival, but its all part of some circus. Anyway, we do something. Something fun and interesting. Maybe we put it back on the market. Hell, we don't even know how long it will take to do the things we need/want to do.

But that's okay. Not knowing is a good thing. After all, it's all just part of an adventure. Like the rest of life--you have to make it up as you go along.

Control What You Can

When I get involved in a project, whether its moving, or writing a book, or learning something new, the only part that is hard for me is waiting. Things might be difficult or frustrating, but if they are within my control, persisting, pushing ahead, feels good.

But waiting? Sitting around until someone else makes a decisions, accomplishes a task... not so easy.

Selling the house involves a lot of waiting, and I can't control most of that. And I can't do anything about moving until I know when the house will sell.

But there are things I can do. I can write stories, update this blog, and work on short-term projects that lay the groundwork for the next steps, and make them easier. Those things I can do, and they are important.

Every moment of an adventure doesn't feel adventurous. I just have to remind myself of that.

Maintaining Communications

The other day we called the people in Panama who are selling a boat we are very interested in. Very. We can't make a move until the house sells, and although there are people interested in our house, they have a series of decisions to make and things to do before that can be real, if it is. So although they are very interested in our house, they can't promise anything.

I makes a frustrating, but understandable cycle. And being poised to jump without any idea whatsoever about when we can jump, takes a toll.

So we come up with ideas. If the house were to sell, and the boat was still available, I'd fly to Panama, meet the owners and see the boat. I'd meet with lawyers there to talk about a resident visa (pensionado), which I'm already working on collecting the documents for.

It's a jigsaw puzzle without any border pieces.


For the time being about all we can do is maintain communications, both with the people with the boat, with the people interested in the house. Keep communicating and make preparations.

Unfortunately, that too is part of the adventure, just as surely as logistics are part of an expedition. Not all components of adventure are thrilling. Sometimes the effort is to stay steady as she goes and wait for the horizon to appear.

The boat we are interested in isn't a catamaran, but I'm in the mood for a picture of a boat and I happened to have this one handy.

One Step at a Time

January was a chaotic month... two days after listing our 100-year old adobe house for sale we got an offer. That meant we had one month to sell off everything that wouldn't fit in the van. Two days later the buyers backed out.

Chihuahua Hill, Silver City, NM

While that made for quite an emotional roller coaster, the truth is that we were actually relieved. The quick sale caught us off guard. Moving into our van in January wasn't going to be fun either and getting together the paperwork for going to Panama (the dog's health certificate, the van title, the FBI background check, a certified copy of our marriage license--from Hong Kong...) needed some time.

So we let out the sigh of relief, set about collecting the documents (it's a straightforward process getting documents from Hong Kong, but not simple to do long distance), fixing some things that the inspector for the people who had intended to buy the house found and looking at boats. (We are somewhat enamored of a UNION 36 for sale in Panama. If it's there when we sell the house we will definitely take a look.)

And dreaming of the sea, of course.

So the house is back on the market--for a mere $120,000 if you care. You can see it at http://www.bettersilvercity.com/idx/mls-32835-315_w_san_vicente_street_silver_city_nm_88061

We are letting the universe guide the adventure. All of the adventures. The adventure of selling the house, the adventure of traveling around in our van (up to the Seattle area to see my Mom and other family, then to Panama), and then the adventure of seeing what Panama holds in store for us.

Starting the Adventure

The first step in starting down a new path isn't necessarily dramatic from the outside, even if it is emotionally significant. And so it is with our new adventure. In this case, the first thing that we needed was money. So we put the house on the market. The realtor, Patrick, came over and we did the paperwork. Not much can happen until it sells, but a lot of things need to be put into motion. We can't control whether the house sells, or how soon, but we can put it on the market. And we did.

The paperwork is done, the commitment made, and we have started talking to people about selling off the power tools, furniture, Dagny's art (contact me if you are interested) and whatever won't fit in the van. It's a great van, but not a tardis, and will have less room than we have in our ultimate boat. But it has to be done.

Onward and upward.

An Unquenchable Lust for Sailing

It was fifteen years ago that we moved off our boat, HDML 1001, aka Float Street. She was a warship and a lovely, but decaying boat home. Before living on her, we lived on a junk, called Gambic, in Hong Kong. We loved boat life, but for a number of reasons that were true enough back then, when we left Float Street behind, we thought we were through with sailing. 

Float Street in Venezuela

Life changes. We (I, in particular) aren't good at routine. When we sink into routines, we feel ourselves ossify. We don't like feeling ossification as it diminishes us. I, in particular, don't thrive well in an existence of routine. I've never tolerated an office-hour life well. I've done it, and found it painful. That doesn't mean I'm good at avoiding routine, just that I suffer considerably from falling into them.

We moved back to Silver City from Cambodia about three years ago with the idea that we had finally settled on a place. We wouldn't move again. We'd travel, but not uproot ourselves. After all, we knew why we'd come back. We knew the place well. We knew both its limits and its benefits to us. And we were right. About the place. Not about settling.

But life changes. Goals change. Four days ago, over breakfast, Dagny looked at me with a somewhat puzzled expression and told me she'd ben thinking about living on a boat. We talked about the change of heart, her motivations and such, but mostly we talked about the possibilities (and difficulties) of living on a boat. During the next three days we tried to find good reasons to write that off as a bad, impractical idea. Well, boats are impractical, and we are pragmatic people. But our lives are not practical things to be managed and desire is a power of its own. As a result, the more we worked to convince ourselves what a bad idea it was, the more excited we became about doing it. We discovered that we had suppressed our love of living on a boat, but that the love for the life, the lust for the feeling of living at anchor (we were seldom in marinas) hadn't been quenched. We found ourselves physically craving it.

Over the next three days following Dagny's epiphany, we formed a strategy and an intention. In the process, the specifics of reaching our goal changed several times but the rather simple, and somewhat open-ended intention of moving from a fixed abode on shore to living full time on a boat sharpened into a workable, or at least an exciting, strategy. First, we are going to sell our house. This morning I'll call a broker or two and have them give us an estimate of what we can get for it as is. We don't intend to fix it up or do much to it. That's for the buyer to do. It's an old adobe, nearly 100 years old, and it has character. That will have to do. We will price it to sell.

We have our white Nissan van that Dagny christened Moby, and fixed up for camping. While we sell the house, she'll finish off Moby's cabinetry. When the house sells we will head off to visit family and friends, and then turn south, driving to Central America, where we will buy a boat, fix it up, move aboard and sell the van.

Simple, right?

Of course, intentions and reality often collide. The veneer of simplicity will crumble as it always does. We can't afford a fancy boat, but we have skills. We also have time, because hunting for the right boat will be part two of the adventure. Once we are on board, a new adventure begins.

This time our moving will be irreversible. For our last moves we had a property manager rent out our house, and it was there, welcoming, when we wanted to return from an adventure. Now we are cutting that tie and moving on to... something else.

So the inexorable change officially begins now. I intend to chronicle the adventures, posting as things happen, as we move from one phase to the next. Like many of the best things in life, the outcome is uncertain; like all good quests, only the intention can be controlled. It should prove interesting.