It was the first week of September, 2014.

I remember the day very clearly. I was starting to get frustrated. The search for my new home had been going on for months, which is pretty reasonable, but there was just something missing from every place I’d seen. I knew it was my first home, not my “forever home,” but I wanted what I wanted and my budget was probably unreasonable.   My realtor was a gem. Mostly because it was a battle to get me to articulate what was missing from the many many places she took me to see, but in some cases it wasn’t always a feature that I hated or was missing but a feeling.  I just didn’t get the vibe I thought you were supposed to get when you’re about to make a significant life decision.

But it was a beautiful day.  Just that perfect September Saturday when summer starts winking at fall.  We all went, the parents wanted to get involved and “offer perspective,” sure. Or my realtor texted my mom because maybe if I had the parent nod of approval I’d pull the trigger and make a decision. I was not all that optimistic about Unit 8G. Why? I can’t tell you, because it had pretty much everything on my “must have list.”  It all looked great online with the overview capturing those keywords you’re scoping for until that “Well, alright” moment happens and you click through to the pictures.  But, I’d been to this neighborhood a few times before to see several other units and had become pretty familiar with the menu.  “It’s quiet. It’s nice.” Just a very vanilla taste.  I like vanilla, I think vanilla is nice.  Key word: “nice.”  What does “nice” even mean anyway? I guess it’s what you say when you’re indifferent but it’s nothing spectacular.  I think that was what it was, they were all just vanilla.

And until that day, it never occurred to me what the problem was.

It started with the usual routine, before she opened the door, my realtor always smiled and said “Ok! Let’s take a look!” and I’d get that fleeting feeling similar to going on a first date when for like five whole seconds you tell yourself “this could be it!” extremely glass half-full, but then reality brings you right back down and you jump to thinking the entire thing is a big waste of time because either his pictures that you spent the entire prior day stalking weren’t that exciting or you’re terrified he’s going to look nothing like that in person.

Well, let’s just say “he” looked exactly like the pictures.  Now, don’t go getting all judgy on me…You know as well as I do we formulate opinions and impressions based on pictures so we have some kind of self-justified perspective when we blindly walk into a new situation. But hopefully, when that happens, a little humility acts as a buffer.  Dating and real estate, totally the same.

So I very slowly made my way through the first floor, just taking in every detail, picking up on things I saw in the pictures. The tile in the foyer, acceptable. The pair of closets sandwiching the front door, adorable. The attached garage with sealed floor and pre-installed pegboard, convenient. The carpet everywhere else, puzzling. The outdated but relatively very clean kitchen, alright. Oh but wait, the appliances were all new, hmm. The kitty-corner “honest-to-god” fireplace, bonus. Backyard access via a sliding glass door, great for Oliver. Omg, look! the pond is right there AND you can hear the fountains, that’s rather soothing.  This wasn’t in the pictures.

Can we turn on the lights, where are the lights in here? Wait, there are no lights, that’s odd.  Actually, I realized it wasn’t odd, because there seemed to be a very apparent reason there were no lights in the living room.  Floor to ceiling mirrors covering all the living room walls.  It was the kind of thing you just couldn’t help but just keep staring at trying to figure out what the thought process was there.  It drove me nuts not knowing why they ever thought that was an excellent life decision. Perhaps an 80s thing, I concluded adding lights to that equation would’ve been blinding.

 

So I’m staring at the floor to ceiling mirrors running through the surrounding inventory.  The sliding glass door is still open so the fountains are playing the background melody while my realtor is asking me, “So what do you think?” and I’m also wondering, “Where is my mother, I can’t hear her commentary,” meanwhile my phone gripped tightly in my hand is vibrating, “The Professor,” and for a moment everything went blank.  White noise quiet with a muted echoing pond.  I didn’t pass out or anything so dramatic, I just disconnected ever so briefly.  Totally zoned out so you’re borderline dreaming wide-awake.

It became very clear what my problem was with every other unit. There was always something I couldn’t get past, no vision, “it is what it is,” just vanilla.  And here it was, floor to ceiling mirrors. Literally staring me right in the face.  I hated the mirrors…But they were just mirrors.  The mirrors can come down.  I can change this, I change what I see. The symbolism was a little ridiculous, but to this day I swear it was that moment and those hideous mirrors that sold me.

Like I said, there’s always an event.

Yes. This is enough.

Reply: (squinty eyes, blush-faced smiling emoji) found it. Send.

It was simple really. This place may have been vanilla, but it wasn’t just vanilla. If I wanted, I could make it taste just like Häagen-Dazs vanilla bean amongst a whole aisle of store brand vanilla. It would be mine, and that was the difference.

“So how about we go take a look at the upstairs!”

Queue legit LOL (right…the upstairs), “Sure…”