2019 started pretty slow for us. We accidentally missed the countdown to the midnight fireworks because we were talking; we skipped the crazy New Year’s parties in favour of wandering around Montreal’s Old Port in the freezing cold.
But just a week later and suddenly, I’m running to a million different appointments all at once. We sold our condo, the place we’ve called home for the last five years. Our realtors took us to see house after house in neighbourhoods across the city.
We saw a pretty terrible home in Villeray, followed by a quaint place in the east-end’s Hochelaga-Maisonneuve borough, and even visited a gorgeous 100-year-old apartment in west-end NDG that, sadly, was in desperate need of a few hundred thousand dollars worth of work.
Before we started our search, people were asking about my “dream home” — the one we’ll never find or could never afford. My answer was always the same: a two-storey, three bedroom apartment with a parking lot, a huge kitchen, a nice terrace, some great natural sunlight — oh, and near a Metro station.
One of the first homes we saw was exactly that. I randomly saw it online and sent it to my realtor. We visited the open house and I instantly fell in love. I stood there for over an hour just soaking it all in. It was technically in our budget. And when I say technically, I mean before you take into consideration the sure-fire bidding war that was about to erupt.
In Montreal right now, it’s a seller’s market — great for us, because we had multiple offers on our tiny one bedroom condo within the first four days of it being on the market. At the same time, it was not so great because we were also buyers competing with dozens of others for the perfect home.
We put a bid in to my “dream house” anyway. And lost.
We continued our search.
And then the deal fell through. I got the call as I was heading to my hairdresser’s.
We put in a second bid.
I knew that was the end of the story for us and this home. And I was OK with it. “It wasn’t meant to be,” I told myself.
Then a week later, my realtor called to say, “you’ll never believe what just happened.” The deal had fallen through — again.
A third bid.
And this time, they chose us.
My mother always said “the right house will find you” — and she’s yet to be wrong about anything, really.
I truly believe the universe has our stories mapped out for us before we even arrive on the earth, but I won’t lie, I was starting to think this house just wasn’t meant to be ours.
I absolutely believe that whatever is right for you will show up when you need it.
Just about eight weeks after our search began, here we are, a few weeks from moving into our new home — and all the chapters about to unravel.
Have you ever had an experience where things somehow ended up falling perfectly into place? What runs through your mind when that happens?
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