Moving homes kicks you off balance. It's recognized as one of the greatest stressors we face. My recent move from a rural to an urban home stimulated thoughts on the differences between both modes of living. It also, with a nod to Elisabeth Kuebler-Ross's five stages of grief, inspired these 11 stages of moving:
1. Shame
With the decision to sell comes the realization that the home you cherish is not good enough for the prospective purchaser. It must be buffed. In our case, new patio doors headed the list along with replacing a cracked cooktop. As well, painting and professional cleaning. Big bucks for a home we were leaving. Lesson: Do these things while you can enjoy them.
2. Upheaval
At a moment's notice, you must evacuate for the almighty "showing." Rural homes being slow sellers, we were delighted with the burst of interest. But it was inconvenient to be kicked out of our home (and, for me, my office), repeatedly, forced to find refuge in restaurants or friends' homes. Inevitably, delays would arise and we would sit in the car making repeated, futile, drive-pasts until re-entry was allowed.
3. Anxiety
Each showing is followed with a report on the prospects' verdict. You're either rejected or put on tenterhooks, neither pleasant. The reaction is equally contradictory: Should you blame yourself for foisting an imperfect home on them, or blame the idiot who can't see the golden opportunity you are offering them?
4. Frustration
No, you can't tell them what they are missing out because contact with the buyer is frowned upon. So sellers and buyers who are accomplished in their professional lives have mouthpieces speak for them – or not speak for them, when that is judged wiser. Ugh. I remember reading about how McDonald's Canada founder George Cohon called the vendor, went over with a bottle of wine, built a relationship and made a deal. When I bought the home I recently vacated, the owners were always there during our visits, and the relationship that developed got us over two potential sticking points.
5. Attachment
You want your home to go to the right person. Once our deals were done, we bonded immediately with the people at either end, each of us eager to help the other.
6. More frustration
I am not a good negotiator. This time the cards were against us and so we folded, on both deals. We wanted out, and knew the house we were seeking was The House. It always interests me how, in real estate deals, sums that are ordinarily considered exceptional in our personal lives – thousands of dollars – get viewed as insignificant play money to make a deal. I'm frugal enough to notice, and care.
7. Fury
Moving means spending time in an earthly hell – talking to call centres. My existing Internet supplier, told of my impending move in six weeks time, cut me off within minutes. When I called to get my service reinstated, I was told it would take "24 to 48 hours" because the techie I was talking to couldn't, or wouldn't, get someone to quickly reverse the error. When finally back online, it was at only dial-up speed rather than high-speed, and fixing that meant more "24 to 48 hour" delays.
Some individuals at the many call centres were excellent – one went through an enormous amount of paperwork while chatting with me about kids, grandkids, and steel roofs – but mostly it was infuriating. The person selling the house we were buying wanted to maintain his Internet address, which registered as two people wanting service on moving day, not one. He went through call centre agony over that – and so did I. Finally, I was assured the matter was settled and everything would be fine, but it wasn't. If call centres are an example of Canadian customer service, we're failing.
8. Temporary loss of mind
The week before the move, not only were nerves taut but the mind shot. I began to think my usually sharp-witted wife was showing signs of dementia – she didn't understand what I was saying, couldn't remember what I had said or what she had done, and at times made no sense. Then I realized I was worse.
9. Sadness
Fourteen years ago, I bought a beautiful country home and found an even more beautiful community in Battersea, Ont. The hardest part of moving was leaving those friends. One of them hosted a goodbye potluck, a memorable night, tinged with sadness.
10. Tension
Moving day is always edgy, as the lawyers and bankers do their thing, seemingly oblivious to your schedule and that of your movers. When the mortgage lender for our buyer asked for additional paperwork, it upended the whole process. Time ticked away, with my moving van and six workers sitting at the new home waiting – at my expense not the mortgage company's – as the money didn't move. For a while, it looked like we might be homeless that night, with everything needing to be stored somewhere. But at 4:15 p.m., the money arrived at my lawyer's, his assistant ran to the seller's lawyer, and with knowledge of the keypad code on the home (thanks to the new friendship we had forged with the seller), we were in even before the keys were available. Last time I moved, I spent five days in the home before I owned it, as the lawyers worked out a technicality with the municipality. There has to be a better way. People move every day. Moving is stressful enough. There is no reason why the deal can't be prepared in advance and take effect at 12:01 a.m.
11. Delight and exhaustion
Finally, the delight of the new home is revealed, and the exhaustion continues as you unpack, and unpack, and unpack. A new neighbour knocked and offered some Ramadan evening treats. For me, returning to the city after a lovely rural sojourn, I have been realizing how complicated life is in the country and how much easier it is in the city. I'm happy, and will never move again. (I hope.)
Harvey Schachter is a Kingston, Ont.-based writer specializing in management issues. He writes Monday Morning Manager and management book reviews for the print edition of Report on Business and an online work-life column Balance. E-mail Harvey Schachter
Harvey Schachter