New Year 2023 began with an unexpected twist—we moved houses. Here is the story of what happened. Only names have been changed. Everything else is factual.
January 14, 2023
Dear J___________,
Your wish has come true. We are out of Cardinal House. No longer do we occupy your physical space. As of 1:30 pm today, the cleaning crew mopped up any lingering crumbs. Don’t worry—we don’t intend to ever set foot back on the property.
I do thank you for the experience of living in Cardinal House. We all do, really. Your two-bedroom bungalow provided a furnished home to begin our sabbatical year. We didn’t have to schlep furniture or buy pots and pans. It was a cute, cozy place in a great (albeit noisy) location. Ashton, our 14 year-old, enjoyed the quiet back bedroom (I guess that was your room, based on the Little Bear and Jane Austen novels in the bookcase?). My husband, Matthias, appreciated the strong Wi-Fi for those 7am Zoom meetings, and the easy bicycle commute to the Stanford Lab. Our cat, Bliss, claimed a sunbeam next to the rosemary bush as her own paradise. Yes, the Cardinal House was an ideal summer house. We created happy memories, and for that reason, I am grateful.
We also learned that under a pretty exterior lies great ugliness.
When we signed the lease, you said that you wanted to make this year “the best experience possible for us.” We appreciated the hints on how to pick ripe figs. The restaurant suggestions. The comfortable furniture you provided.
And yet. Winter came. A different kind of storm battered our shelter.
Not only was blocking our devices from accessing Wi-Fi illegal, but it also meant that we couldn’t do our work. Using AT&T parental controls on your adult tenants’ devices—in Silicon Valley—really?
I don’t know why you locked our thermostat on New Year’s Eve. Because of the poor insulation, we shivered under blankets. The wind blew through the siding during the big storms—the rains that flooded El Camino Real, closing the road three blocks away. Thank God for the fireplace. Thank Costco for the wood.
On New Year’s Day, we awoke to a handwritten “24-hour Landlord Inspection Notice” taped on our back door. When Matthias saw you in the back patio and asked what was going on, you filmed him. When I observed that you seemed upset and asked what you needed from us, you told me to not play dumb.
Demanding entry into our house on January 2—when we were supposed to be out of town—on an observed Federal holiday wasn’t okay with us. Because we were frightened that you might enter the house without our permission and let out the cat, we cancelled our trip to Yosemite that was supposed to start that night. We called the police twice—once to get everything on record, once because we were scared. Did you read the notice that the officer taped onto the backyard cottage where you were staying? We barricaded the doors with our still-packed suitcases. And we awoke to another notice slipped under the kitchen door.
I’ve been made aware of many shortcomings, but I’ve never been told that I’m bad at environmental conservation. Texting your tenants that they aren’t conserving energy and therefore in violation of the lease is just bizarre. On what grounds? By your own admission, you peered into our kitchen window on rainy, gloomy afternoons as you walked by the house. You thought you saw a light on and nobody in the room. But you don’t know that we weren’t in the room. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen and the living room with mugs of hot tea because it was rainy, dark, and cold outside.
Why were you peeking into our kitchen in the first place?
I could go on.
I’m thankful that you stopped threatening us once you received our attorney’s letter. I don’t think you’d really contact the Provosts at Stanford or Kansas State University, claiming harassment. Now that the lease is terminated by mutual agreement and our full deposit is refunded, our business is done.
Before we are finished, I need to ask you some serious, personal questions.
Who hurt you, J_____? How long has your soul been weighted down by such pain? For only someone in great pain would treat others with cruelty and spite.
I don’t know what happened to hurt you so deeply. I don’t expect an answer, not do I wish to receive one. However, your pain becomes my burden when your actions affect my family and me.
J_____, I gave you a box of Christmas cookies on December 25th in the garden. Were you serious when you said that they were the only present you received this year, besides a Damn Doll from a so-called friend? Were you triggered by seeing our little Christmas tree aglow in white lights, hearing us laughing and exchanging presents as you trudged into the back cottage, alone with your dog? If so, my heart hurts for you.
Maybe you have unfinished issues that go way back to childhood in the fancy neighborhood. Did something happen to your last beloved family member—the one you hoped would move closer to you—the one you told me was gravely ill? Did she pass away? If so, I am truly sorry for your loss.
And now the obvious question: Why did you do this?
Based on what I’m learning about Silicon Valley, I imagine that money plays a role. Multiple mortgages are expensive. So is keeping up appearances in the upper echelons. Maybe you got yourself in financial trouble. Or you balked at the electric bill, like everyone else in the country this winter. But can you really get more money if you rent the Cardinal House as a VRBO?
Through this experience, I learned that while I might not be rich, I’m a wealthy woman.
Matthias, Ashton, and I decided that we were better off moving to a different place. Even if it meant complete upheaval. We must have looked at a dozen rentals, inside and out. On the second evening of the search, we found one that resonated peace. We signed the lease the next day using Wi-Fi at Starbucks. Funny thing: our new place is larger, quieter … and costs less. The property manager quickly answered our request for a routine maintenance issue with respect. We rarely turn the thermostat over 68° because it’s well insulated.
We also discovered the generosity of Craigslist Free Stuff. Our friends with a big pickup truck drove us all over the Bay Area one weekend. As we collected sofas, lamps, rugs, and bookcases, we received an outpouring of largesse that more than tipped the scales in favor of loving kindness. So what if we’re living like grad students with IKEA and Target furniture again! Complete strangers asked, what else do you need? How can we help? Many of these same people shared that they, too, had been victims of landlords violating boundaries. In that capacity, you are not alone, J______.
Our sweet little place is warm and cozy and peaceful. Most importantly, it’s filled with love.
It’s funny. When we first talked on the phone back in June, I had some reservations about renting from you. Not because the house was wrong, but because you shared details a little too enthusiastically for a business relationship. Like the neighbors’ names and professions. Or how to identify a perfectly ripe fig. Or that you were on the design committee for the Safeway shopping plaza down the street. You even invited me to stop in Santa Fe and meet you on our drive to California. Quirky, yes. But Quirky Good, like the Berkeley hippies I knew from 15 years ago. I interpreted your oversharing as sociable care.
I see now that underneath that pretty, attention-calling exterior dwells great suffering.
And so, I wish you healing. I wish you deep, inner tranquility. May this New Year be one of rugged love—the kind of love that values life enough to embrace your pain and let it go. For yourself, but also those with whom you come into contact. Life is full of real beauty, but you have to be able to experience it.
Please don’t go out of your way to contact me. If Spirit has a reason, then our paths will cross again; if not, then we won’t. Me, I consider our work finished.
With that, I release you from any lingering attachment to our family: physical, emotional, and spiritual. I sever all psychic cords and give you back the energies you heaped upon us. Take them—they are yours.
Finally, I leave you with peace. May your soul find ease from the great pain that you are clearly enduring. May you enjoy living your life.
Sincerely,
S________