Confirmed non-homeowner flirts with taking plunge

Megan Ritchie Jooste

is a freelance writer in Philadelphia

I do not want to buy a house. I have one box of childhood mementos, very few place settings, and I spend all my money on too-frequent takeout, diapers, and travel. There is a quote by Yogi Bhajan stitched on a small canvas bag in my desk that reminds me to "travel light, live light, spread the light, be the light." And although toting a 50-pound car seat on vacation scarcely qualifies me as a "light traveler" these days, I feel apartment living is far less cumbersome than owning an entire house would be.

Then again, I've never owned a house.

But while buying a house appeals to me only slightly more than the thought of binding my feet, it never hurts to look. So before the Arctic Blast chases me indoors for the next few months and the yuletide tsunami threatens to drown me under a gigantic wave of activity and obligation, I joined my friend Laura Seaman on a "house crawl."

Laura, founder of the realty company and community group Love Your Block, conducts biweekly house crawls to give prospective buyers and "looky-loos" alike the chance to get a sense of the different neighborhoods in and around Philadelphia. Recent house crawls took groups through Point Breeze, Society Hill, and Northern Liberties. Each one begins at a local coffee shop and ends at a restaurant, where the group can relax and debrief. On a recent rainy Saturday morning, I met Laura and the rest of the group - 11 of us - at Melodies Cafe on Lancaster Avenue before a crawl through Ardmore.

"Every time you don't leave a tip," the note affixed to the tip jar at the Melodies counter ominously warned, "Justin Bieber moves a little closer to Ardmore." I liked this place already. I joined the others, drowsy and yawning, at a few tables we cobbled together by the window, and an hour passed lazily. It was a perfect way to ease into the day and wait out the rain before embarking on our tour through a curated selection of real estate offerings.

"I definitely want people to feel comfortable," Laura says. "There are a couple of people who come to the crawl who just like looking at houses, there are some people who are looking to buy, and not everybody knows each other. Starting at a coffee shop lets people meet each other."

When I asked about the origins of the house crawls, Laura quickly replied, "I want my business to be about giving good information, giving people what they need to make the right decision for them."

Many factors come into play when purchasing a piece of property: school district, proximity to amenities and public transportation, and the somewhat ineffable sense that you and the neighborhood suit each other and will look out for each other. How do you get a sense - a real sense - of the neighborhood? You walk it.

When the rain finally let up, Laura pulled out a map from her pocket and led the group, now caffeinated and chattering, through Ardmore. Each house save one was vacant. Each one had its own shortcomings and charms: The backyard was spacious here, the master bedroom too constricting there. In the one occupied house, the owners had chalked "Welcome to Ardmore!" on a blackboard-painted wall in the kitchen, followed by a list of stores and public transportation within walking distance.

There was a small patch of grass in front of the last house we looked at before converging, spent and hungry, on a local brewery for our afternoon meal. I took my daughter out of her stroller and watched as she toddled around on the grass, falling down, getting up again, trying to eat a leaf.

I allowed myself a few moments' reverie: What would it be like to sip a cup of coffee on this stoop each morning, pointing out birds to my daughter as we wave good morning to neighbors out walking their dogs? Would owning my own home be as heavy as I fear, or would the option of painting my living room any color I darned well please, the sense of the roots that promised to sprout from my feet and down through the foundation, actually be freeing - the sense of belonging, of ownership, actually liberating? The house crawl sparked a previously unlit curiosity and cast a narrow beam of light down a path previously unconsidered.

I caught my daughter in my arms and scooped her up to kiss her forehead. She squirmed to be put down, to continue exploring. She gets this from me, one who was born with sand in her shoes. We may not be ready to settle on one house, one neighborhood, even one city, just yet, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of possibility that we might, someday. And I am a friend to possibility.