I wanted to start writing this Friday afternoon, but I was due to be interrupted by the delivery and installation of a $2,000 washer/dryer and didn’t want the writing to be interrupted too. Maybe I’ll pull some weeds in the meantime.

Done. And now, let’s begin.

This headache is more because there’s so much going on that’s good. It isn’t the ‘good’ that’s the issue; it’s the ‘so much’. My new washer/dryer is working as I type. (Washer Dryer Whew) (Interesting that the fridge picked this moment to sound sick.) Skip to the bottom for my good news about my next book, the sequel to Firewatcher. But this blog post is about the third good thing that may be a much bigger adjustment for now. Since I sold my house to buy this tiny house, I’ve held tens of thousands of dollars in cash in case one piece of advice was right. They were wrong. Sudden wealth, of a sort.

I do appreciate the free advice that tried to spare me from upsetting the tax authorities. Once upon a time, I was a realtor, so I was somewhat familiar with real estate taxes. My understanding was that the taxes were excused if the sale was of a long-time permanent residence (for a given interpretation of ‘permanent’.) I’d lived in the house for over a decade, so I thought I was clear. 

But… a well-meaning friend said that they thought otherwise. They thought that the tax exclusion had been temporary and that I’d have to pay capital gains taxes. Eep. In 2007, I bought the house for $291,000, and sold it in 2024 for $525,000 (as I recall.) That’s a lot of tax! 

That’s a lot of tax because, even after paying off debts (Debt Free Again), that’s a lot of money. OK. I pay my taxes, but ouch, considering that I was selling the house because it was no longer affordable. (Sad.) And yet, it is a lot of money that could also be invested. (Time To Buy But What) So, I estimated the possible taxes, added in some contingencies, guessed at how much I’d spend getting the new old big tiny house upgraded, threw in a buffer, and started investing the rest. Much math has been involved, well, just arithmetic.

The sale was five months ago. 

In the meantime, the companies I’ve invested in have had good news. Geron had FDA approval. Lineage Cell advanced clinical trials. Intuitive Machines won some nice contracts. D-Wave Quantum made nice progress in quantum computing. Their stocks, GERN, LCTX, LUNR, and QBTS have had varying success, but startups frequently have a poor correlation between company and stock performance. I’m patient. I’ll wait.

I coulda bought more, and am not dismayed that I didn’t. Now, I can.

Anxieties do not require logic. The prospect of being wrong about my taxes was immense enough that I avoided the topic while I did things like clear a tree from hitting the house, bought furniture, paid for storage, etc. I sold my house because I lacked public confidence that I’d be able to keep it. That lack of confidence was amplified by the suggestion that I’d have to spend tens of thousands in taxes, too. I thought I was clear, but I also was very aware that I am human. Maybe I was wrong.

Five months later, I had a moment when I felt confident enough to ask my trusted tax accountant how much I owed. The answer came a day later. Zero. My interpretation was correct. Whew. Big Whew.

That free advice cost me five months of anxiety. Logically, it didn’t have to be so. I could’ve asked the question sooner. As I mentioned, anxiety does not require logic. That lack of confidence made it easier to avoid the topic. Avoidance was easy because I also decided to take the time to find a new accountant in my new neighborhood. Unnecessary.

I don’t fault my friend who gave me that advice. Friends look out for friends. Don’t put your hand in the fire. Don’t get on that rickety ladder. Make sure you’ve turned off the breaker. They give advice to help take care of things we may overlook. Imagine their dismay if they’d said nothing, I’d spent too much of the money, and then found I owed tens of thousands as, perhaps, my stocks had done poorly. 

And now, here I sit, guessing that the noises from the washer/dryer are typical, normal, nothing to worry about. I get to adjust to this luxury. 

And now, here I sit, removing a massive layer of uncertainty from my life, and re-revealing resources that are readily available. Logically, that means a more secure financial future. Emotionally, it means I might go out to dinner a bit more, or visit the family plot, or – gasp – take a vacation?! Realistically, it means a new phone, a new camera, and … I’m sure I’ll think of something.

One friend observed that, since I almost lost my house a decade ago, I’ve exhibited symptoms of PTSD. The techniques the bill collectors used made a mark that I now get to remove. Hopefully, a light cleansing is all that is needed, not scrubbing with steel wool for the soul.

On another practical point, it also means I get to return to researching stocks. The recent batch were very technical: lunar exploration, quantum computing, solid batteries. One field of investing has also been profitable: silly things that many people spend money on that make me shake my head. Starbucks’ appeal made some sense. They taught me how to make tea (Kettle Pot Cup), but seeing friends take their kids, the next generation, to a coffee place looked profitable. I wish I’d listened to my own advice when I visited one of the early Costcos and wondered at the suburban-ites loading their SUVs with bulk buys. As for SUVs, I’ve been a fan of Jeeps for decades because I liked the mix of Sport with Utility in a Vehicle. Now, SUVs are rugged replacements for the family van, as if every family needs to blast up into the mountains and through streams to get to a scenic cliff every weekend. (For an example of how I used my Jeep, read Twelve Months at Barclay Lake.)

It might be time for me to look past the serious and see what’s silly now. There might be a wealth to pick from.

I will also take this tale of the impact of advice as advice for myself. Understanding how a person will take advice can be as important as the advice. Asking questions about the person, well, that should just be part of human nature.

The washer/dryer should be close to done. There are more loads to do. There is more writing to do. There is more research to do. But maybe after I do my chores, I’ll clean me, take myself out to dinner, and to a movie. Researching companies can come later. Living is more important.

Done with the post. My next chore for the day is to upload my next book to Amazon, my ninth, the sequel to Firewatcher. I’m eager to show you the cover and, of course, more eager for you to read and enjoy it. One thing at a time, eh?