I had a sudden moment of philosophical mortgage angst yesterday morning on the train. Reading the paper I found myself pondering if I was doing the right thing, signing up to borrow ARGH thousand dollars, to spend the next 25 years paying it off. Working for The Man, money goes in, money goes out… is this all there is?
BOOM! Mortgage, working, time wasted, life gone, mortality… it all hit me. I’m about to turn 35… my life is now mapped out until I’m 60. Should I be doing other things? Making more of my life? (Indeed, what if it turns out this is all there is to existence? Whoa… heavy stuff!) Enjoying my family, friends, hobbies more? Finding some entrepreneurial superJob that will earn me zillions (or at least pay off the damn mortgage) with little effort?
I was brought back to earth as the train pulled into Toorak, and a work colleague boarded and came over for a chat.
Pondering it some more later on, I know I’ve wanted to own my own house for a while, and I’ve snagged a good one, where I know we’ll be happy. I’ll pay it off as quickly as I can, maintain the short working Tuesday thing as a nod to the work/life balance, keep trying to ensure my work and extracurricular activities are challenging, stimulating and making a difference.