While I was out showing houses on Thursday, I ran my fingertips across the smattering of business cards on a kitchen table in the last house. I said out loud to my clients, "You know, I never see my fellow realtors' cards. I know we are a small brokerage, but still..." I suddenly felt sort of lonely that way. We are a small brokerage, and it's a brutal business to break into. The other two brokers who started with me both dropped off before a year was over. It took total desperation on my part to stick with it, plus the determination that I would damn well make it to the closing table at least once, to pay back everything I had invested in this career change thus far. Now that I'm on the cusp of seeing my third and fourth clients get serious about buying, with a fifth on deck for July, I'm glad I stayed through the lean times. But I still wish I saw more of my comrades.
I took my daughter to view a house today. When we made the appointment, we were told that there would be another realtor showing at the same time. Turns out there were two others, but that is okay by me. I got used to that last year, trying to find something in north Denver for my friends. We wandered through the house, and had just stepped out to look at the back yard when the second set of people came in. I didn't pay attention until we were done looking in the yard. I walked back into the kitchen to find the realtor who helped us through all of our own Colorado deals, who we consider to be a dear friend. What a lovely surprise! I immediately hugged her hello, and gestured toward my daughter and said, "Looks who is ready to buy a house!" We caught up just a little, and then promised to go out for drinks very soon. Two days after I wished to see a familiar face, and there one was. And a good one at that.
This week has been hard on me physically. I've overdone things, and let activity, food, stress, and heat all get to me. Even though I had a complete day of rest yesterday, and started the morning at what should have been a safe restaurant (the same gluten-free bakery where I had lunch Tuesday), by the time I returned my daughter to home, my stomach was doing flips. I had intended on going down to the Boulder Bookstore to get a freshly-autographed copy of Al Franken's most recent book. I've been watching him since I was nine or ten years old, whenever I was first allowed to watch the original cast of Saturday Night Live in the 70s. (I still quote an old Franken and Davis skit every single time I cut the cats' claws. I say that I will "just take tips.") I wanted so much just to have a few seconds to make eye contact with him and tell him face to face that I've enjoyed watching the arc of his career over the span of my lifetime. But I felt so icky that I just turned around and came home. I later read on the newspaper's website that it was a packed house, and I felt relieved that I didn't fight a crowd to stand around and feel awkward and make myself hurt more. But it sure would have been nice to get to see someone I've been watching on the teevee since I was a little kid. Maybe some other time.
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