After nine years, we did what some people would deem inappropriate. Others might even call it unthinkable. We sold our suburban house, got rid of 90 per cent of our stuff and moved back to the city.
It’s not like we were empty-nesters downsizing once the kids had left. No, we still had the kids in tow – two in elementary and one in high school.
You’re not supposed to do that, right? You’re supposed to covet the backyard you never really used. And Dad’s supposed to work a gazillion miles away so the kids don’t see him much, and when they do, he’s recovering from the commute.
Driving everywhere in the suburbs was absolutely essential, while walking anywhere was practically non-existent. The neighbours were okay, but with the houses so far apart and all the entering and exiting from the garage, we didn’t get to know them that well.
Just over the horizon from our fixer-upper was a huge new development. Like the rest of us, it was plopped in the middle of nowhere. But no matter – the houses were big and impressive. There they sat in all their majestic glory, like a salute to the North American dream: “Congratulations! You have arrived. You’ve made it!”
I wanted to feel that way. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to aspire to? What was wrong with me?
We're going to hear more and more stories along these lines in the coming years.
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