Behind The Eight Ball

I was taking a stroll down memory lane recently.  A virtual walk where all the warm and fuzzies reside inside my head. My personal version of Mr. Rogers’ Market where it’s always a wonderful day in the neighborhood.

I was recalling the open house “schtick” I used when I first got into real estate.   Back then Agents were fond of serving those little baby quiches at their Sunday opens. Contrary to the prevailing wisdom of the 80’s, Realty Men Did Eat Quiche.  Lots of it.

Other Agents liked to hand out those cute little packages of Forget-Me-Nots. Trying to plant the not so subtle seed of:  “Remember Me!!!! Tell your friends, your relatives and anyone else you ever meet to call me!!!!“ Unless they are already a real estate agent themselves.

We were looking for ice breakers.  Ways to get  prospects to linger and engage.  It was a kinder-gentler era before real estate morphed into an all out assault to wrestle e mail addresses out of anyone with a pulse and plop them into the automated search engine that runs the robo-funnel.

Anyway, I always set out a bowl of Fortune Cookies. No one can resist them.  People would break open those dubiously edible gimcracks just to get a peak at the future.  They got a few crumbs and I got the opportunity to gain stealthy entrance into their brains.  I had a big sign that said: “ You don’t need a fortune to buy this house, but it wouldn’t hurt!”

Hold that thought.

Some years later, I had a client who insisted he had to dream about a particular house first, before he bought it.  The literal interpretation of  a “dream home” I guess.  We waited patiently for weeks until he saw the sign in the night he was looking for.  Must have been the right one because we put an offer in and closed a month later.

Some years after that, I was working diligently with a young couple who came to an interesting standstill in their process. They found two completely different houses they wanted equally as much. They went through an extended routine of mental gymnastics trying to resolve the conundrum.  Finally, they just flipped a coin. It was Abraham Lincoln that gave them the heads up and told them to buy that Eastside bungalow.  And they did.

They should have sold that place a few years later when it had doubled in value. They could have bought the house they really wanted.  Instead they borrowed too many Benjamins on their hell-lock equity line and bought three rentals in the booming subprimeburb of Podunk (a.k.a Dough-Punked).  Long story short, they shoulda’ stuck with Honest Abe’s auguries.   Sometimes a penny is worth more than all your thoughts.

So, here in this time of missed fortunes, lost dreams and great indecision, how do we think our way out of a place where we feel equally pinned between two different sides of the same pair of vise-grips.  To buy or not to buy – that is the question.

When the going gets tough some people turn tail(s) and run the other way.  Others hear the voice of Al Haig in their head(s) claiming he is in full control of the market at the White House.  (Just as scary a thought now as it was then.)

In actuality, it isn’t possible, nor has it ever been possible to buy a house or sell a house or make any other major life transition without taking a leap of faith.  Control is an illusion. Always was. Always will be.  In the end, you may be able to think or feel your way right up to the edge, but you still have to find a way to jump over the abyss.

So here’s the question…which of these do you prefer to put your faith in?  Fate? Luck? Kismet? Divine Intervention? Karma? Cosmic Synchronicity?   In real estate land they are all words for the same thing.  You don’t decide as much as you divine your way forward to the next place – wherever that is.

While you creationists out there are feeling a rush of apoplexy,  I invite the rest of you to sign onto my website and gain some extra insight with my new I PAD Real Estate APP. It is an  Automated Random Fortune Search Engine that will open your chakras and your mind and get your moon into the right house – all at the same time.   Guaranteed to throw the yarrow stalks, flip the coin,  dream the dream, read the signs for you. C’mon folks – time to enable my cookies again.  The Dice Man Cometh.

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