Throwback Thursday...

In the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, I started and ran a Real Estate publication that featured new construction. Development was booming here in N. Florida, and I wanted to hitch my wagon to that growth. Within a year or two, one of our advertisers made me the proverbial “offer I couldn’t refuse”, so I got my Real Estate license and started selling new homes for that builder.

My partner in new home sales didn’t care for the daily meet & greet of new prospects, laying the groundwork and establishing credibility, explaining contract language, or handling problems as they arose, so that was mostly my role. She didn’t want to do much of the sales part. For me, selling was and is simply speaking with new people and having fun getting to know them, while answering questions along the way. But I break out in hives if forced to do paperwork and didn’t know squat about working floorplans and custom changes, whereas my partner was a pro. We made a good team.

At one point we found ourselves in a temporary office, a mobile home parked in a cow field slated for development. Packed shoulder to shoulder with customers like Times Square revelers on New Year’s eve when we opened up for pre sales. Townhouses, three hundred and thirty-six were planned. Buyers were shouting over each other “I’ll take one”, all sight unseen.

Often working as much as 30 to 40 days straight, writing contracts, we sold all 336 in less than two years. Subsequent monthly commission checks sometimes equaled what I had made in an entire year prior to going into Real Estate.

Carla and I invested in a few houses to use as rentals, just prior to the market crashing around us. Genius Realtor that I am, I bought high and sold low. The market tanked, my company declared bankruptcy and I lost my job. The substantial nest egg we had built up in profit sharing got flushed away along with our investment houses. In fear of Guido showing up at my door to break my fingers for non-payment of my own mortgage, we left the big house and moved into our smallest rental.

Now, more than ten years later, I see the whole experience as one of the best things that ever happened to us. We had been locked in the belly of the beast. More, bigger, faster.

Along with a huge serving of humble pie, my priorities shifted. No longer did I feel a need for a showplace home, a new car, an extra wide screen TV, or anything found in a sharper Image catalogue.

Currently, I work part time for a builder I’m proud to represent. The neighborhood I sell in is four minutes South of our house. Carla’s work is five minutes North. Publix, our bank and our favorite restaurant, Ned’s Southside Kitchen, are all in between. The beach is a fifteen-minute drive; historic downtown St Augustine is twenty minutes the other way.

We love our little house, now customized to fit us perfectly. It looks down on a lake surrounded by transient waterfowl that come in all shapes, sizes and colors. Ospreys scream overhead, tucking their wings as they pierce the water like spears thrown down by the gods. Easily mistaken for skinny bald eagles, the Ospreys tear into fresh fish on their favorite perch just above our deck. We dine together.

Our biggest problem these days is deciding where we want to go for dinner, there are so many good restaurants to choose from. Our normal routine is to discuss the possibilities for a half hour or so, this place or that, the pros and cons, and then we go to Ned’s.

It’s been a crazy ride since we moved to Florida 26 years ago, but if I could go back and change anything, I wouldn’t. It all brought us to where we are right now,concerned about things that matter: family, friends, good health... living the good life...all within a ten-mile radius.

What may be boring to some, is a little slice of heaven to us.