The proceeds of the sale of the “old” house are in the bank. I should be ecstatic that the long, tiring episode is behind me. I am glad it’s over. But I expected a degree of elation that, as of yet, has failed to materialize. Instead, I feel somewhat stunned and surprised at the absence of euphoria. I waited for it. I expected it. I looked forward to it. In its place, there is a modest sense of relief, as if a heavy stone was removed from my backpack. I feel appreciation that the burden is not so great, but the expected ecstasy apparently escaped from an open door. That is a disappointment. Considering the investment of mental and physical energy and the time, money, and stress involved in the process, this mild feeling of relief does not seem a fair trade. Perhaps it’s just shock; maybe, once the reality sinks in, enthusiasm and unrestrained delight will course through my body in a happy adrenalin rush. I hope so. But then what? Where will the next infusion of happiness come from? This dull reaction and odd sense of “so what?” does not belong here. After putting so much into it, there should be an unending wellspring of joy. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe a few days of being lazy—napping and lolling about without feeling compelled to accomplish anything—would resolve the disappointment. Perhaps I will see. At the moment, I am not dancing. But, then, I have never been a dancer, fearing what others would see if I tried.