BIG HOUSE, SMALL HOUSE

I used to live here, lucky bastard that I am. Big barn conversation on an acre of land. Huge open spaces, wonderful light, a fantastic family home that everyone who visited it loved immediately.

I hated it.

I am filled with sadness when I write those words; filled with regret for the constant undercurrent of resentment that dominated my thoughts and interactions through much of that period. I resented that we’d bought this house instead of one we could have had a year earlier; I resented the amount of effort the garden required; I resented that we spent so much money extending and improving it just as I was moving towards losing my well-paid job, worrying about the outflow of hard-earned cash.

The house became so associated with my wife that my longstanding feelings of resentment towards her were transferred onto the building.

She put a huge effort into the restoration project and, for much of the time, I found it hard to engage in it or to show appreciation for the ambition of her vision or for her hard work in bringing it to life. I was travelling to the USA a lot and, coming off an 11 hour flight, the last thing I wanted was to be badgered about curved walls in the hall or how the staircase to the office could be fitted in. It must have been horrible for her and I regret that now. I have shared that regret with her.

I only really appreciated it in the first lockdown. I’d find a place in one of the open, high beamed spaces to sit with a coffee for hours, just relaxing. I’d wonder through the garden in the sunshine, or walk over the road to the fields and woods that could so easily be accessed. I finally, after 18 years, could be at peace there.

I live here now, in this rented little town house (I so prefer the American “Town House” to the English “Terraced House,” but don’t much like myself for the classist implications of that preference). For the first time ever, I’ve had to walk into a new house and make it mine, the selection and placing of objects not a shared decision but mine alone. In truth, both the women I married had an eye for such things and I found myself deferring to their preferences. From the day I picked up the keys, I had exactly a week to both unpack and sort everything AND prepare for a family Christmas.

I’ll admit to being pleased with the results of my efforts.

I had worried that I would feel cramped and closed in after getting used to so much space, but the truth is that it is possible for one person to fully occupy a small house, whereas I could only ever occupy part of the old one. I am less lonely on my own here than in those echoing spaces, crying out, as they were, to be filled with people. It will take me a while to get used to living properly alone, but there is a WhatsApp group linking people who live in the street and I have family very close.

I think I’m going to like it here and can already feel myself unwinding after the stress of selling the big house and moving to the little one.