Summary of Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life - Book Summary (2016)

Part V. LETTING GO

Chapter 42. Jubilee

Let’s talk real estate.

Several years ago, Craig and I bought our first single-­family home. The home was within a comfortable price range, but we chose an interest-only, adjustable-rate mortgage because back then, we still believed in shortcuts. Recently we woke up and started asking tough questions about our loan—questions like who are we really paying each month, and how much, exactly? We learned that we were $100,000 underwater, and the details of our loan meant that we could pay our mortgage faithfully ’til the end of time without putting a dent in the principal. We also learned that when our rate adjusted in the very near future, our mortgage would increase by $1,000 per month.

Craig and I worried and agonized and prayed, and we finally decided to sell our house. We planned a short sale, citing a Lyme-induced move as our “hardship.” But after breakfast, Craig went to the bank and stood in line behind a single mom who was crying and pleading with the manager to help save her home, which she was about to lose to foreclosure. Her two young children were hanging on her legs, looking more weary and afraid than kids need to look. Craig came home, walked into the kitchen, and said, “Honey. No short sale. We’ll save those for people with real hardships. We’ll just cash out everything and start over after the house sells.”

I said, “What? Let’s think this over.”

Craig raised his hot little eyebrow at me, and said, “G, it’s the right thing to do. If we needed to do a short sale, we would. But we don’t need to. We have the money. So we’ll use it.”

I said, “But neeeeeed is such a tricky word.”

And Craig said, “No it’s not.”

And I sighed loudly and said, “Okay,” and felt terrified and wildly proud to be Craig’s girl.

We went to see a financial planner and explained our predicament. He asked questions about our money and marriage and goals, and we told him that our dream of home ownership had been replaced with dreams of peace and freedom. We said that there were things we wanted to do, places we wanted to go, money we wanted to spend and give, moves we wanted to consider, but we felt paralyzed because we’d allowed our mortgage company to become the primary decision maker in our family. We told him that we wanted to know what kind of decisions we’d make if we fired our mortgage company as the boss of us. I told him I wanted Craig to be free of the pressure of our sky-high bills. We shared that we wanted to be more conscious and careful about choosing the companies to which we gave our money. And we said we wanted to live a little simpler, travel a little lighter. He asked us why we didn’t just do a short sale, and we explained that we thought short sales were perfect for some, but not for us at this point, since we couldn’t honestly say that we didn’t have the money. We said we thought the right thing to do was suck it up and start over.

Then we stopped talking and waited for him to tell us we were nuts. But he didn’t. He looked at us and said, “I hear you. All of this makes sense to me. You need to be free. I get it. I think you should go for it. And I agree that you should do it without the short sale. You have plenty of time to rebuild, and I believe you will. Free your family, and do it your way.”

We put our sweet little house on the market, and it went under contract in two weeks. We brought $140,000 to the table, just to walk away. We left our retirement accounts, our entire savings, and Chase’s college fund on the closing company’s big fancy brown table.

So we started over, with nothing again.

For now, starting over looks like spending a third of our old mortgage on rent. It looks like narrowing our belongings down to what would fit in two small storage units. It looks like shrugging when something breaks, calling our landlord, and waiting for it to get fixed. It sounds like Craig saying whatever, at least our bills are next to nothing after losing a big deal at work. It also looks like buying my new hair color at the dollar store. Based on those results, I might suggest finding other corners to cut. But you know, it’s actually sort of cute, in a vampirish kind of way. Whatever.

Whatever is our new spiritual motto and mantra. Whatever is divine.

Most important, starting over feels like knowing in the back of our hearts that if we are needed anywhere, anytime, we can go. We’re free. And what better use of money is there than to buy freedom?

We live in so much fear about money: what if it all goes away, what if we’re left with nothing, what if, what if, what if ? We’re scared to take risks, to relax even, because what if … But here’s the thing: Craig and I are in the middle of the what if right now.

It’s all gone. And it’s fine. It’s better than fine. We might have nothing, but we also don’t owe a damn thing to anybody other than God and each other. We’re still laughing and singing and dancing over here, just in somebody else’s kitchen. I think ownership of anything might be illusory anyway. It’s like we can hear God saying, Hey guys, did you really think it was the house and the money that kept you safe and warm and joyful? I feel like a kid who finally found the courage to jump off the edge into the pool and realized, Yes! Daddy caught me, just like he promised he would. How fun!

Craig and I feel wide awake and very young. You know that feeling you had when you first got married? Like it was just you two setting off like pioneers into the big world and anything was possible? That’s how we feel. Like newlyweds. Without a bank account to depend on, we’re left with God and each other. So we get to relearn every day that God and each other are enough. We get to live on faith for a little while. The strange truth is that since we’ve abandoned the responsibility of providing for ourselves and given that burden to God, we feel free as birds.