As a Single Woman, I bought a Home and Moved to a Small Town.

Here’s what happened.

It was one year ago today that I moved into my new house. After my divorce, I put my head down and focused. I didn’t go out much. I didn’t date. My focus was on getting my daughter through high school and into college.

I had no plans on moving to Boulder City, a small town of around 16,000 people just on the outskirts of Las Vegas. My brother moved there in 2018, but I wouldn’t have thought a small town would fit me.

It was Christmas, 2020. Mom and I were at my brother’s house in Boulder City to celebrate the holiday. Pulling up to his house, we noticed a house across the street for sale. I have no idea where this idea came from, but I blurted out, “Look, Mom, you could live across the street from Jeff.” She gushed. The house was beautiful.

We both knew she couldn’t qualify to buy the house, but something inside me just knew it was hers. I went inside and spoke to my brother about it. He brushed it off at first. Later, I approached him again. “Jeff, would you like to have Mom across the street from you?” (I thought he might think it was a bit too close).

“Absolutely,” he said with enthusiasm. “Then we should explore how to make that happen”, I responded.

As real estate agents, we had immediate access to the details. We called a lender and discussed options. A loan program for adult children to help elderly parents buy a home.

I didn’t even know this existed. It allowed me to purchase the home for her to live in, with an interest rate and down payment that was the same as a primary residence (vs. investment property).

My brother and I teamed up to make it happen for her. I was nervous because it meant using my credit, and the new debt-to-income ratio could disqualify me from buying my own house, which I had just begun to look into.

And, of course, I was now helping my daughter get into college as well. It was a lot to take on. But my gut knew it was right, and I proceeded without hesitation.

In January of 2021, after putting my Mom’s house under contract, my brother urged me to look at a new home development in Boulder City.

With a growth cap, this small town doesn’t do much building. Storybook homes were building medium to large homes in a small development just down the street from my brother’s house.

My brother encouraged me to check it out. I was in the area anyway; why Not, I thought. They were outside of my budget and likely what I would qualify for, especially after putting my Mom’s house in my name, but I was compelled to explore them.

I walked into the model and knew by the time I reached the kitchen. This was my house. I didn’t know the “how” or the “why” of it all, but I could feel it in every cell of my body; I’d be cooking in that kitchen!

I couldn’t keep my eyes off the walk-in pantry. While I knew I wouldn’t have a big family anymore like I once did, now being divorced, with the kids grown, It still called to me.

Little did I know how much the thoughts of that pantry would keep me going during the stressful process of qualifying for and building the home.

I couldn’t put the home under contract that day, but in February, after working out everything I needed to do with my lender, I chose my homesite, put down the earnest money deposit, and started the process.

Mom’s house closed on February 14th, 2021. We got her settled, and I focused on my tasks at hand.

1. Keep my credit score exactly where it was.

2. Don’t charge anything.

3. Earn X amount of money continuously without allowing any dips. (Owning my own business meant there was no guarantee. I worked like a beast. And this was during a pandemic to boot. I knew anything could happen).

My home was scheduled to close that Summer, and I would be taking my daughter to college shortly after. While there were many times I thought this was all going to fall apart, I just closed my eyes and imagined the pantry.

In my mind’s eye, I saw myself filling the pantry with groceries.

I pictured myself going to the pantry to collect items I needed to prepare dinner. And I would smile. My eyes would fill with tears as I allowed myself to feel what it would feel like to walk into that pantry and cook in that kitchen.

And then, there it was. In July, I was signing closing papers. While I didn’t move in right away, as my teenager wanted to spend her last summer days with her friends in Vegas, we set a moving date for August 21, 2022.

It was one of the biggest days of my life and was certainly one of my biggest accomplishments. It was bittersweet, though, as my Dad passed on the next day.

He never got to see my house. I was so excited to show it to him that next week as we would celebrate my 50th birthday and housewarming.

I was happy that my other siblings had flown in for the event, as we all could remember my Dad together and fill my home with love and energy.

Ten days later, I took my daughter to college.

So there I was, in a four-bedroom house, alone, in a town where I knew no one outside of my brother, his daughters, and my Mom.

While I loved my house, I sank into a dark spell. “Is this it?” I asked myself. “Did I move to this small town to sit around and wait to die?” With my oldest daughter busy with her work and marriage and now living 45-minutes away, we didn’t get together much. My youngest daughter, now in college, felt like I had no purpose.

There I sat. An aging woman, divorced, feeling like I had no purpose. I had no community and distanced myself from professional ties and colleagues, primarily due to my divorce.

While I attempted several social events, I quickly retreated, feeling uncomfortable. I went through the winter mostly alone. My brother has a busy life as a single parent and business owner, and although Mom and I would “brunch and shop,” it wasn’t enough to fill my need for “community.”

One day, I realized that I had reached a bottom. I was getting less enthused about everything, even work. I have always loved my work. I was giving up.

I spent some quiet time considering my options and realized that if I was going to keep going, I needed to start focusing on “soul-fulfilling” activities. I needed to put myself out there, get uncomfortable, and start meeting people.

I started by going to a couple of book club events that I was invited to. Those started turning into social event invites. I went to the local “cheers-style bar” by myself for dinner a couple of times and began to meet people.

I showed up at local events like the wine walks, garden walk, and events at the park. And I met more people.

I joined the gym, the Elks lodge and took up line dancing.

And then, seemingly overnight, I had this huge group of friends. I now have several girls’ groups that keep me busier than I can imagine. On Friday, I had three separate events to go to, and I made it to all three.

I’m living again and dancing like nobody is watching.

The people here have been so warm, welcoming, and amazing. I used to question why I would have been “compelled” to move to Boulder City after having lived in and loved my Summerlin neighborhood for nearly 30 years.

But now, I know without question. I was brought here for the community. On Saturday, I’ll take Tabitha to California for her 2nd year of college. And I can tell by the emotions I’m already having that it will likely hit me as hard as year one did.

What’s different though is that on Monday the 29th, as I celebrate my 2nd birthday in my home, I’ll be surrounded by friends. I’m no longer alone. I know that I have a purpose. And it’s OK that I’m aging because I’ve got this great group of people to grow old with, having a blast along the way.

What year! I’m Home. ❤️