I don’t believe in fate. The notion any circumstance, whether beneficial or harmful, is preordained has always seemed rather…as the kids these days say…suss. I’ve always been skeptical of others’ confidence in interpreting how life unfolds, more apt to believe in “it shall be erased” rather than “it was written.”
But I admit my suspicion of destiny has been challenged recently by the fortuitous chain of events and circumstances surrounding how our new home came into our lives.
We weren’t actively looking to buy, resigned to the belief that the insanely competitive Los Angeles real estate market would require months of bids and compromises galore. Finding a home you can imagine yourself living in, located within in a neighborhood you like, and at a price you can afford is only a fraction of the journey. Or as friends and strangers alike miserably advised, “Don’t make the mistake of falling in love with any place! You’ll get your heart broken over and over again” – a city of dreamers all vying within a nightmare of a market.
The original apple of my eye was an Altadena residence listed on Redfin a year ago, only one of a few homes I had ever favorited. I had fallen madly in love with a Nuevo Pueblo property in Los Osos, but it was admittedly a far flung fling attributed to pandemic-induced cabin fever. This home was located just above a stretch of trails running along a verdant creek parallel to the Jet Propulsion Lab, a midcentury residence with low slung post and beam construction. The house sat near a terraced hillside with a slightly sloppy arrangement of large river stones demarcating a wall that looked glaringly similar to Shane MacGowan’s grin, but I loved the interior and proximity to Angeles National Forest.
I remember showing Emily the 1960s-era home first on Redfin, then later in person while we hiked that same trail after a year of being cooped up during the pandemic (I believe it was the day we spotted a fox sitting overhead on an oak branch – a prophetic appearance perhaps?). “One day I hope we’ll live up there!” glancing up toward the canyon’s edge of midcentury residences lacing Millard Canyon like a hopeless Squid Game contestant. I uttered this not so much with confidence but with a sigh and a degree of resignation that I had magnitude more dreams than money.
Fast forward to just a few weeks ago when I spotted another residence on Redfin, one with similar diamond in the rough charm – maybe even rougher, considering its architectural provenance had been partially obscured by that ubiquitous 80s-era love of tile, stucco and an enigmatic inclusion of coastal themed stained glass art thrown in. The home would reveal to be situated literally across the street from the previous hillside home I had admired. And Emily and I loved this one even more.
Our friend and soon-to-be agent Sara informed us there was an open house that very afternoon. We’d tour the home shortly after, navigating mostly amongst real estate agents slithering from room to room, then again a second time a few days later during a private showing to seal our affections as tried and true.
We’d learn the house originally had gone far into escrow a first time after receiving 44 bids. The eventual winner would later drop out due to an untimely dip in the market/crypto realm. With the second go-around the sellers understandably made the hoops a magnitude more difficult to jump through: while the starting asking price would remain the same, the property would only sell as-is, without the possibility of credits or any negotiations in price. Absolutely no letters to the sellers either. Emboldened by an insanely friendly and secured fixed 3.25% 30-year interest rate – one attached specific to the address – we tossed in our hat with what we believed was a competitive first bid. And yes, it included a request to include the now famous pencil sharpener.
“Sorry guys, we were told they’ve already received several bids that have reached the original sales price. You’re not being invited for counter offers.” [sad trombone]
Ah, so this is the heartache everyone was warning us about!
Fortunately, a pair of friends from out of town stopped by that same evening, helping us wash away the stains of sorrow like a Magic Sponge across a kimchi-stained tabletop (thank you Karis and Ben!) We’d go onto accept the reality that nobody gets their first home on their first try. The only lingering disappointment was we would not be able to review the inspection reports as we had always hoped, a privilege only granted to those whose bids were deemed competitive.
Then later the next day Sara called to inform us we were being invited to counter with a new bid. And bid we did! Our best offer would go onto eke past 18 others, including a few all-cash bids and a bid right there alongside our own. But we won out because we had agreed to drop all contingencies – an admittedly risky roll of the dice that showed the sellers we were as serious about the entire house as we were about the inclusion of the pencil sharpener stipulated in our asks.
Nothing worth dreaming comes without risks, and I’ve always wanted a house to call my own more than anything else. How many 12-year olds did you know who skipped the comics section to peruse the LA Times real estate section?
So here we are, as flabbergasted as anyone else realizing we’re buying our first home. We’re late to the home ownership party, but committed to staying for the after party till the break of dawn.
Also, can I tell you how friggin’ awesome it is discovering our future home was designed by Niels Diffrient of Humanscale and Knoll Inc. fame – the father of ergonomic design whose seating designs we both work from today.
Hoping the family selling us the home will offer these original plans so we can frame them to hang them upon our wall to commemorate what we plan to call, The Diffrient Sharpener House (but I suspect everyone else will just call the Pencil Sharpener House).
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