I’m definitely a little depressed lately, so it’s possible that I’m being overly pessimistic, but I’ve been looking at the numbers and it’s pretty clear that we are never going to become homeowners.
It’s not like we we’re planning on it in the near future. We live in possibly the world’s cutest little cottage. We definitely have the best landlords on Earth. But we also live in a pretty wealthy community, and I imagine at some point, when Baboo is in school and all of her classmates live in mansions and have horses and she’s a renter, it might be an issue.
The problem is that we’ve utterly failed to win the lottery. Also, we’re middle-middle class, a segment of the population that’s dwindled to basically us. I’m too tired to Google stats for you, but our parents’ generation was able to buy a house for a box of Cracker Jack, pretty much, and now you have to have a trust fund or two six-figure salaries.
I was talking this over with Baboo’s honorary Aunt Kate this weekend, and she gave me some perspective.
“Literally everyone I know who owns a house got help.”
“I know, right?” I said, agreeing to agree but not really thinking about what she was saying.
“No, listen to me. They all got the down payment as a gift. Their parents gave them tens of thousands of dollars. Or their grandma died.”
This made me feel a little better. Not because someone’s grandma died. I’m not that evil yet.
Anyway, there are worse things than not being a homeowner. And maybe we’ll figure it out at some point. We’ve been very lucky so far — finding each other, having this Baboo when the odds were against us, and so on. But I read so many articles talking about how millennials are killing the real estate market with their poorness and I just wanted to say, don’t forget about us old losers, too. We are also poor and killing the economy with our poorness.