Mar 25, 2022 4 min read

The first house looked like a yin and yang symbol.

I’d begun my search for a new place to live, with a visit to a house in the town where we raised our kids. No way did I need as much house this time around, so a smaller one a few streets over seemed like a possibility. It would put me back in the old neighborhood – this time, with less to clean.

One step inside the front door made it obvious this would not be my next home. The right side of the main floor was bright and clean and updated; to the left was all worn and dingy. It was as if two factions had battled over the square footage.

“Looks like they started on the right side and then ran out of steam,” I told the real estate agent. “Or out of money.”

On to the next house, same neighborhood, a couple of blocks over. When the owner opened the door, the smell of cigarette smoke clobbered me. Inside, it was worse. It was a nice, cozy home, but how would I ever get rid of that smell?

It’s a hot housing market, and the agent warned me that the same factors that will allow me to sell my current house quickly and at a good price will make it hard for me to buy my next place. Inventory is at a historic low. Last week, she emailed me a listing that had just come on the market, and before I could hit reply to say I wanted to tour it, the place was under contract.

The process has been exhausting. I’ll see a listing that has potential and, before I can actually see it, someone else has snapped it up. House-hunting these days has the feeling of those crazy scenes from the ’80s where Christmas shoppers were climbing over each other to grab the last few Cabbage Patch dolls.

When I finally do find the right place, I’ll likely face a bidding war; I haven’t the stomach or the bank account for that.

And so I find myself in a jam. Take advantage of the hot seller’s market and list my house now, knowing that I might sell quickly, and then get stranded while I hunt for a new place. So far I have offers from three other friends and family to live with them while I hunt. But my dog and I and all our stuff and habits would be charmingly welcome for two weeks – three weeks tops. And then what?

After striking out in my old town, we headed a few miles away to a new development. The townhouse had that new-carpet smell, and high ceilings and lots of sunlight, and a laundry on the main floor. But the unit was wedged into the center of a row of townhouses; I’d have to count garages to find my place every time I came home. And it was more than I’d planned to pay, and that’s not counting a bidding war.

I feel for the families who are moving to Western Pennsylvania and must find a place to live. People are buying houses sight-unseen and taking their chances on what the place will look like – and smell like – when they get here. I wonder if my house would get any of those “blind” offers. I can promise the buyers I don’t smoke.

Of course, I could hold off on selling and stay put for another year. I could just wait and see what pops up on my email, knowing I’ll still have to be quick on the draw.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.