Too Many What Ifs

Yesterday my husband and I joined our friends for a ferry ride over to a nearby island in the Casco Bay, just for fun. We packed a lunch and figured we'd have a nice boat ride, then hike around the island's trails, see some nature and then head home. Except right when we arrived we passed by the adorable little post office and saw a flyer pinned up on the community bulletin board advertising a house for sale. So we went to see it, on a lark.

The owner was there and she let us in and gave us a quick tour. We liked her, and we liked her house. And now we want to buy it. Great! How fun! Except for all the what ifs.

Like, what if it turns out to be a "real dump," like Trump described the White House before moving out so they could do all those renovations? And what if all the island inhabitants turn out to be complete whack jobs? Everyone we ran into said they had grown up there, or that their parents had, and that all their cousins live there too. One lady told us she has been spending summers on the island since childhood, but that, "Even after 50 years I'm still a newbie." What if all the islanders are inbred and crazy, even more than all the typical inbred and crazy Mainers we're already familiar with?

So what, right? Everybody's crazy these days -- I know I am. And nobody was running around wielding a knife and yelling "Allahu Akbar," at least not while we were there, and that's certainly worth something. Besides, if you worry about all the what ifs, you'll never do anything, ever.

So what if we just buy the thing?