We have things figured out, more-or-less, financially. We know basically what we want to do, what we’ll pack, what we’ll drive, where we’ll go. We know how we’ll sleep, find bathrooms, crash with friends, and eat. We still don’t know IF we’ll be able to make it happen. The big brontosaurus in the room is the room — the condo. We need to sell it. We still have the kitchen to remodel, some painting, and a few various repairs before we can LIST it. And then what? Somebody needs to want to buy it. We need to sell it. We need our condo to breathe a little life into the housing market.
This is getting stressful. It’s like training for the Olympics and getting ready to perform, but the Olympics haven’t picked a date yet. When will it happen? Will it happen? It’s killing us. Every day at our jobs erodes us a little more. We know we’re counting our days, but we don’t know what we’re counting to.
Plan B is refinancing our loans, finding a renter, and being absentee landlords for a year. That plan sucks. But it’s a plan. And if the refinancing doesn’t fly, we’re fucked. We can’t rent for a loss and make this work.
Selling our place gives us a countdown. When we get our condo off our backs, we’ll be able to see the freedom on the horizon. Until then, we wait.