As I type this, I’m sitting on the floor of my bedroom eating a yogurt, feeling like I already have one foot out the door of the house we’ve lived in for the past two years.

Our mattress and box spring are on the floor because we moved our bedroom suite out into the garage a few weeks ago, hoping to sell it before we move (it hasn’t sold). Assorted clothes and items from our dressers, now homeless and bereft of drawers, are lying around the room.

I hate this feeling. I hate not knowing a single detail of what the future holds.

When we recently decided to move back up north to the area where we grew up, it seemed like a good idea. In many ways, it still does (in fact, I just wrote a column about how nice it will be to finally have family and friends around again). But, there’s a “dark side” to all this, a restless uncertainty within me that is constantly apprehensive. This, I suppose, is what its really like to transition out of the military. At least for us.

I wonder, “Will I be able to find a job?” The area we are moving to mainly offers industrial work and medical jobs — basically, nothing to do with my chosen career field. Both locations that we are considering moving to (based on good schools and the price of housing) are also somewhat rural, meaning that I may have to commute to the nearest city to find decent work.

My inner child also irrationally fears the “ultimate demise” — “living out the rest of my days” in the town where I grew up. Gulp. If you are laughing at me right now, consider the fact that I am a hopeless wanderer. Also consider the fact that I, along with probably anyone else who ever grew up in a small town, spent my youth plotting to escape and never return.

Loved ones, beautiful scenery and delectable farm-fresh goodies aside, there’s nothing quite like regularly intersecting with individuals you’d hoped to never have to ever see again. You know the ones.

As the cherry on top, as would-be first-time homebuyers, my husband and I erroneously assumed that we would have no problem obtaining a VA loan to purchase a nice house to move into right away. After all, we figured, we have great credit, enough savings and his veteran status. He’s transitioning into the National Guard, finishing school and has several great job prospects. There wouldn’t be an issue.

Except, there was — other first-time homebuyers hoping to obtain a VA loan, take note.

The issue is, we don’t have a tangible paycheck anymore, regardless of the fact that we are obviously in transition. When you get approved for a VA loan, you, as the homebuyer, do not have to put down any kind of down payment (though we intended to anyway). Additionally, you don’t have to pay mortgage insurance, a measure that protects the lender.

The long and short of it? They want to be doubly sure they aren’t going to get bamboozled out of their money. That leaves us living out of my parent’s house in the interim, hoping to find a temporary apartment for the few months until we can produce paychecks (which will hopefully be sooner rather than later, because we won’t have furniture since it will all be in storage).

“Just go with it and stop worrying,” said my friend John, the most laid-back human in existence.

“Sure,” I agree with an easygoing smile, as more (worry)warts continue to pop up all over my body.

Abbey Sinclair is a former Army spouse, mother and a Herald correspondent.

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