House Hunting
House hunting is a wild ride—especially when you’re trying to find a place that feels like it could be the perfect nest for a gay life. Everyone has their own tastes and needs, and for me, it comes down to a few non-negotiables: a solid floorplan and true underlying quality. I don’t mind if the paint is peeling or if the fixtures look dated; that can be fixed. What matters is the structure, the bones of the place, and a location that offers peace and privacy.
I dream of living somewhere quiet—a place where neighbors aren’t practically touching your fence. In a perfect world, I’d love to be nestled in the middle of the woods, free to roam my yard butt naked without a care. Alas, that dream property remains elusive, and the reality of skyrocketing prices post-COVID means even rural areas aren’t immune to the madness. As a high school teacher with a modest budget, it feels like every option comes with its own set of challenges.
Yesterday, though, a house popped on the market in the town where I teach. It’s one of those fixer-uppers that I could slowly transform over time—clean, paint, and improve gradually. Sure, it’s just over the top end of my budget, but there’s a glimmer of hope: we’ve just entered a down payment assistance period that could put up to $10,000 in my pocket. The condition? I’d need to live there for 15 years. Honestly, I have no plans to move anytime soon, and the prospect of cutting my commute by a solid 30 minutes each way is a serious bonus.
The house is on a quiet street with just a few neighbors and is conveniently close to everything I need. After years of living with family—while it’s been fine, it’s also been a kind of torture—I’ve missed having my own space. I’m excited to see it in person after school today and can only hope that it ticks all the right boxes.
It’s funny how a big decision like this can encapsulate so many hopes and doubts. On one hand, it represents a fresh start—a space that’s entirely mine, a potential future home where every corner reflects my personal style, built slowly with love (and a little help from my dad, a seasoned general contractor). On the other hand, it reminds me of all the compromises and battles I’ve faced in relationships. Every hopeful connection seems to come with its own flip-flops and ghosting moments. But maybe that’s all part of learning to stand on your own two feet.
For now, I’m focusing on what I can control: improving my finances, planning for a future, and reclaiming that personal space I’ve longed for. Whether this house becomes the start of my oasis or just another chapter in the endless hunt, it’s a step toward carving out a life that feels right—one that balances independence with the promise of shared dreams someday.
