The Gospel of real estate

By Andie Lyons

This summer my partner and I embarked on one of the most exciting and nerve-wracking adventures of adulthood: selling a house. We spent much of the last year preparing: painting the walls ‘Realtor beige,’ hiding any evidence of ourselves as human beings, and taking on a few too many DIY projects. The entire process culminated in us laying our biggest financial stake in the hands of our exceptionally well-qualified and very well-dressed realtor, hoping for the best.

We have arrived on the other side of this great American quest with a bigger house, a smaller mortgage payment, and our family of three dogs and two humans intact. I’ve also found something extra gifted by the experience: a greater understanding of one of my primary spiritual tenets.

Across the world, religion is consistent. Not a religion in the capital R sense, but every culture on Earth has some way to explain how we got here, what we should do now that we are here, and why things happen the way they do. There are a million nuances to answering those questions, and disagreements have led to everything from family fights to wars, but we seem to agree that some explanation is needed for us and the world.

Even my best (atheist) friend, who uses his incredibly big science brain, concedes that there are things we don’t have answers for, at least not yet. I am terrible about not being in control. I admit to my type-A personality and the trouble it can get me in, as well as its benefits. Because, while my partner may wish I could just relax about where she puts her wallet, I also get things done. I’m a doer, a go-getter, an organizer, a to-do list aficionado. But my best plans fell to pieces when we tried to sell our house – and no amount of control-freak cleaning or Martha Stewart-decorating could put me in charge.

Each day when we sent off our counter-offer, the inspection resolution or the appraisal report, it was with crossed fingers and mumbled prayers. Each night when we had to sit down and figure out if we should replace the roof like the prospective buyer wanted or wait for another offer, we rolled the metaphorical dice and hoped for a little divine inspiration. In the middle of all of this, it was hard to believe it would ever be over.

While I knew, rationally, that an outcome (of some sort) would come, living a moment-to-moment reality of powerlessness tested what I believe. My struggle was, in comparison to so many others, mundane – but the base feeling was the same. What do we do in situations where we have no control – when our loved ones are sick or die? When we can’t find a job? When we can’t afford the rent and groceries? When we feel alone?

If we believe in God, or a god, or something bigger than ourselves, we might look for meaning. We hurtle prayers into the universe or try to see a bigger picture. If we don’t, we may chalk it up to our own failings, chance or something we just can’t explain. Does everything need a meaning or is it enough for us to make what meaning we can?

As LGBTQ people, this is especially salient. Our existence is questioned: Are our attractions “normal” or scientifically explainable? What about our gender identity and expression: Is it a cultural signifier, or something deeper and more pervasive? Even those of us lucky enough to be loved and supported can find our very existence questioned: Why did God put us here, or what role do we fill in the evolution? Is being gay a choice, a circumstance or somewhere in between? How do we understand why we showed up in the world at this particular moment, in this place, with these people?

I would like to think that where I am at, right now, is the result of my excellent organizational skills and my ability to get things done. And that’s part of it, certainly, but if selling my house taught me anything, it’s that left to my own devices, I would make a royal mess of just about everything – with the possible exception of a very thorough to-do list. And while I may not know why it all happened the way it did – the pieces that felt like sheer crazy luck and the ones that felt like calculated despair – it happened without my doing a damn thing. There’s something spiritually beautiful in that.