Since May of 2006 Leslie and I had been looking for a little house to call our own near where we work in Silicon Valley. We started looking in Los Altos because it was close to our employment, and also because the lot sizes were larger and the place felt like it had succumbed less over time to modernization. Our first offer was on a 1650 sq ft 3/2 built in 1956. We had the highest offer. We lost. We were terrified by the process and ran away to lick our wounds for a while. Our second offer (now July) was on a 2161 sq ft 3/2 built in 1952. We were beat out fair and square on this one. Our third offer (October) was on a 1936 sq ft 3/2.5 built in ‘55, with a 12k6 sq ft lot. We tied for high price, but lost. At this point I cottoned on that we were writing offers too complicated for the market, and we switched agents. We wandered the wilderness of the Christmas drought, impatience sent us down insane paths to houses with significant structural issues.

In February I went to New Zealand and while there, still browsing the MLS listings compulsively, I discovered the house we would eventually own, a large, rambling 1964 ranch in the foothills above Los Altos. When I got back, we went and looked at it quickly, Leslie gave it the thumbs up and our agent and I began the multi-week process of negotiation and close. It was interesting. It worked. I am writing this from bed in the house, a day after we moved in. I’m not much for the superstitious stuff, but something about this place felt right, for all of its warts.

A friend of mine said once “The journey isn’t always the reward, sometimes the reward is the reward.” After 10 months of searching, I feel enriched and educated, but also satisfied in the result.