A Farewell to the Effing Condo

As most of you know I (until very recently) owned a condo in Florida.  From May 1, 2008 until June 26, 2012 (at exactly 5:25pm), it was pretty much the bane of my existence even though I was lucky enough to have a renter for most of that time.  Accordingly, I almost exclusively referred to it as "the effing condo" in any conversation in which it came up.

I'm sure all I need to say are the two words condo and Florida for anyone to figure out how the whole affair panned out for me financially.  Praise Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whomever you choose to pray to (or not): the effing condo is no longer my problem.  Though I could spend an entire blog post--or two or three or four--explaining all the ways that the effing condo deserved its nickname and cursing Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whoever for the financial kick in the nuts I took from it, I've decided instead to pay homage to her.  

Once I knew the sale wasn't going to fall through (a deal that was more than 6 months in the making and subject to failure at any time), I started to feel slight pangs of nostalgia for the former home I had scorned for 4 years.  Having only lived in her for a year before packing up and moving to Maine for grad school, I hadn't necessarily established many roots or memories there.  Sure, I thought she was beautiful... and she was:

And can admit the walk-in closet, huge tub, and large master bath are features missing from my house in Maine.  But, why the nostalgia over something that has caused me a lot of stress?

Then it dawned on me.  I am utterly and completely in love with my life in Maine.  I love the city I live in, the house I bought, the job I have, the friends I've made... you get the picture.  I love everything almost as much as I love the husband who is the reason I came to Maine in the first place.  The husband I would never have met had I never moved to Florida.  The husband I met a mere 2 weeks after moving to Florida and buying the effing condo.  If it weren't for that condo luring me from my comfort zone in Baltimore to the unknown land of Florida at the exact time that it did, I would never have met my husband.  And, in turn, I would never have known someone from Maine who wanted to return.  I would never have had the conversation about potentially moving there.  I will admit, this conversation happened quite prematurely in the relationship, sparked when I came upon a rather large snake in the stairwell leading to my condo, but hey, it got the ball rolling.  Though we left the subject off the table for a few months, eventually talk of the future always came back to Maine.  So I applied to grad school, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

But though these are the biggest reasons to pay homage to the old girl, they aren't the only ones.  I lived a packed life in Baltimore.  The packed life of a single girl who made sure her schedule was flexible around everyone else's.  The packed life of a girl working 6 days a week for several years and traveling to a boatload of places.  Don't get me wrong, I loved that packed life.  But had I stayed in Baltimore, that packed life would have overtaken me, suffocated me.  That packed life would have prevented me from having my own life with my own relationship and my own time.  The condo gave me the space to breathe life back into myself.  I relished the energy I had for myself and for a new relationship.  I relished the beautiful views and long evening walks after work.  The condo brought me to my husband, and it also brought me to myself.

And so, though I'll never wish to have the condo back (it's fucking hot in Florida, ya'll), I refuse to look back with regret.  Don't worry, I'm not living in la-la land about it; buying that effing condo was the biggest financial mistake I'll ever make, and I learned my lesson.  But I'd go back and make that mistake again and again if it meant having the life I have right now, which is a priceless one.  So, I never thought I'd be saying this but: thank you my dear effing condo.