The New Pornography

In case you haven't heard, in my neighbourhood at least, real estate is the new porn. It’s more salacious than the cheating wife. The husband who bailed. The naughty child.. Multiple offers are better these days than multiple orgasms. And it’’s the real estate agents, with their fingers on the pulse of the throbbing market who are basking in their 15 minutes of fame. Peppered with questions: What’s for sale. What sold. For how much. And by the way, what do you think MY place is worth?

Sometimes even before the “for sale” sign gets hammered into the lawn the whispers begin. Can you believe they’re asking that much? Did you see the basement ? Not even a parking space! The throngs line up for open houses with a frenzy that was once reserved for blockbuster movie premiers. Sit down for a coffee and someone is bound to bring up how much that dump down the street went for. Head to the playground and the gossip is often about the bidding wars, or the bubble bursting. Can prices really go any higher?

Trolling through the MLS listings is a hobby for those who hide their addictions. And for those who are “out of the closet” :The weekend open houses are a bonanza . There’s something exciting and so intimate about wandering though a strangers life. A home on display. Primped, primed and plumped up like a beauty queen vying for first prize. Instead of a crown and flowers, the winner gets a quick SOLD sign.

Real estate agents, capitalising on the social aspect of all of this, are turning open houses into afternoon socials.. There’’s food and drinks and neighbourhood friends to catch up with. In the states, as usual, it’s a little more extreme. I recently read about agents hiring actors to play the part of the happy family.. A charming 12 year old will offer to show you “his” room, while the dad throws something on the bbq for you and the “wife” fixes you a drink.

And so, for all those reasons, Steve and I tried to sell our house quietly. Without the hoopla. No sign. No open houses. No fake family. In the dead of August, when even the most die-hard real estate fanatics are taking a break, we let our agents know about our decision. We tell them a sign can go up in September, but if anyone is interested before them, we’d forfeit a potential bidding war and accept offers. Just days later our agents show our house to a woman at 10 in the morning. Her husband got a tour in the afternoon and by that evening we were signing the papers. The price was right. They were okay with a long closing and --like true urbanites--they actually liked the fact that we didn’t have parking.

Then we panicked because it all worked a little too well. And that’s when the doubt set in. Should we have rented it out instead. One agency found a family willing to pay 10 thousand bucks a month for one year minimum lease. But the thought of having worries at this home, while trying to make a new life thousands of miles away made selling the obvious option. There was also the fear of a market crash and being stuck with a home in Toronto and Costa Rica, unable to unload either.

And then those practical fears turned emotional. How could we leave this house. Our home for the last 14 years Say good-bye to the backyard where Steve and I got married. So long to the bedroom where our first child was born, a home birth that ended with the three of us snuggled in bed. Warm and safe, with no idea of how our lives would change. 5 years later we turned the guest room into a nursery for Eva...and then just two years ago welcoming yet another beast into the den. In the midst of all that ? Seemlingly endless renovations and additions.

And if we as grown ups were struggling with these feelings, how would our kids react. I worried most about Riley. At the age of 10 he has the most to gain, but also the most to lose from this adventure. Eva and Paulie are young enough to adapt, but Riley might find everything a little harder. The language, the new friends, the new culture.

We told our two youngest while Riley was away at a 2 week overnight camp. Our five year old Eva cried., But, when she learned she could bring her dolls and the little chandelier that hangs in her bedroom, she carried on as before. Paulie’s too little to get it and just keeps repeating to everyone: “we’re goin’a coshta rica. we’’re goin’a coshta rica”

And then the biggie: breaking it to Riley. The usual joy of picking him up from camp was tempered by the fact that I had to give what he might well see as very bad news. I rehearsed what I would say and how I would handle the reaction. I role played with my friend Larissa, a psychologist, as she offered great advice on not making it too big of a deal. Letting him decide if it was something good or bad. And just hearing out the fears and anger he may express.

And then, on the 2 hour drive back from camp, my heart beating, I finally spit it out in probably the most clumsy of all ways: :”Oh,. Riley, by the way, we sold the house.”. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his body slump against the seat. And then a breath.And a question that convinces me the real estate fixation transcends generations. The first words out of his mouth, upon hearing that the only home he’s ever known, the home where he took his first breath, has been sold? Not: “How could you!”. Not: “I hate you and you’re ruining my life”. Instead he asks: “How much did we get for it?”. And when I tell him, he pumps his fist in the air, smiles and says: “that’s goooood!”. I think, at least for now, everything will be all right.