I made the three-hour drive to my credit union yesterday
morning to pick up my cashier’s check. The drive was actually fantastic. I passed
through breathtaking landscapes, I smelled eucalyptus, I sang at the top of my
lungs, I listened to a great book (The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern), I
touched the ocean. As the sun rose a fiery red, I remembered early morning road
trips with my whole family packed in the car, but only my Dad and me awake. It
was a fantastic day.
Until.
I got a call at 6:30 pm from the title company. The
cashier’s check was made out to me, not to them, and is therefore unusable. I
had checked the amount of the cashier’s check before I left the credit union,
but hadn’t checked that they’d made it out to the right entity. Apparently, “thoroughness”
is not on my list of values.
So I have to go back and do it all again. At first, I cried.
Then I raged. Then I decided to stay in the moment, enjoy my weekend, and just
go back on Monday. Like you do.
There’s a word for this situation and the feelings it
engenders in me, but I don’t know what it is. Is it hubris? Is it irony? Is it
just that I’m wrong about everything all the time?
I feel like it’s still worth it, though - and that amazes
me. Would I go to this much trouble for a new bike or a new car? No. But for a
new house, apparently the answer is yes.
And, after fifteen years, I think it’s finally time to put
“find a new credit union” on my to-do list. Well, on the bottom of my to-do
list. Items 1 to 400 are all buying a house.
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