I sold my house yesterday. Officially. All the papers have been signed, the keys handed over, the check deposited. I am no longer a homeowner, no longer indebted to the bank.

I am in a rare circumstance where I have sold a home and will not be buying a new one. I cannot expect to feel the joy and excitement of moving into a new home, but only the relief and peace of mind that follows the never-ending tedium of selling, moving, and purging. 

Really it went quickly. The house went on the market May 6, and closed July 15. In between, and truthfully prior to May 6, much was done. None of it was major or even beyond routine, though the driveway was refinished, but there are a lot of boxes to check. And showings to host. And paperwork to complete. And people to pay. 

I’m not sure how to feel. Relief and ease; that’s what I should feel. I don’t think I’m there yet. I feel the same. It’s been one day, but really it’s been two months since I moved, and with every visit it felt less like home. 

Instead of a home I now have numbers on a page. I wonder what those numbers can do.