The house, as you might expect, is beautiful. 2 stories plus an attic, finished basement, nice yard, garage. Wood Floors. Big kitchen. A wonderfully landscaped yard, and within walking distance of work (assuming, of course, that I continue working where I am now.) It’s also close to some friends of ours.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

What is it about this house that fills me with such desire? I have a house. It’s…. ok. I mean, it’s perfectly livable. Why would I need more than twice the livable space that I have now?

I can’t think of too many ways the space would change my life. Having a backyard not in view of a major street might mean I’d spend more time outside. A bigger art room might mean I’d embark on some larger paintings again. One of the biggest improvements would be the fact that we could place litterboxes gar away from living spaces, so I’d have to smell it less. A walk in closet might mean I have fewer wrinkled clothes an an easier time picking out outfits. The garage is large, so I could have a workshop set up instead of having to take out tools and move a car every time I want to make something. These are all little things.

I also wonder how much a beautiful house (rather than the OK house I have) would change my outlook. I doubt it would make me happier.

The house is much more expensive than our current house – which would be OK if I get a professional position. I also worry about the Diderot Effect – once I have a new house, wouldn’t I want new furniture and other stuff to go in the house? What about curtains, rugs, etc?

My gut tells me that a house won’t make me happy. I also knows that the house will likely sell before I know if I have enough to purchase it. I know that selling my own house, right now, is a horrible idea, not only because of the market, but because I have enough on my plate as it is. I am rational enough to realize this isn’t going to happen.

But the irrational part of me will drive by the house again and again, until I see a little sold sign in the yard. Then I’ll feel a little pang of regret, but I’ll move on.