The Death of Real Estate
I Had a Dream
In 2005, I made the mistake of obtaining a real estate license. I'd always said, to whomever would listen, "There's money in real estate."
This was way back, even fresh out of college - before Donald Trump hit the national radar; before New York became "Manhattan" and Miami became "Magic"... I instinctively knew, there was "money in real estate".
Life, and me, being what we are, it took a good 15 years before I started taking things seriously. Carlton Sheets' "No Money Down" secret buying lessons, trumpeted on TV infomercials and arriving for my edification in a big honking package of books and cassette tapes, was the first real estate investment I made. A few years after that, I took the plunge, and signed up for a real estate sales license course.
To be honest, looking back, I was more excited by my first Blackberry acquisition (complete with track wheel!), then the idea of schlepping around New York City showing apartments to people.
I had my moments, of sales and rental transactions, and invaluable contact and network-building -- and my ‘crackberry’, to this day, remains a staunch ally (not to mention, a unique image taker ;). The New York real estate company with which I "hung" my license intrigued me, with its (later, learned to be unlicensed) business in Florida at the height of the sunny Miami condo boom, and I ignorantly followed -- and blindly led -- that firm south.
Relocating to Miami, a life detour to South Beach, there followed several years of, if not "success", then at least points for trying and an infamous sort of name awareness, as I eventually broke from the New York firm to establish my own licensed Florida real estate agency. This soon became mitigated by public failure, as my humble small business collapsed in Miami... taking my personal name and reputation down with it.
Trying to emerge from this business-transformed-into-personal wreckage, I started a new business... stubbornly determined to spin the name of my first effort — the failed Florida real estate agency — into something prideful.
It didn't work. The damage was done, my "brand" tarnished forever... and for too many years, there was way too much drama, as I kept trying this and trying that, and flinging shit at far walls hoping something would stick.
Very little was able to - and in 2011, I let my New York real estate license lapse.
This was the time of global solar incentives, when land and abandoned real estate projects became a whole new (fool’s) gold rush, with governments subsidizing renewable energy and millions of ‘prospectors’ getting rich quickly. Just as everyone in the naughty mid-Noughties had “real estate” on their business cards, suddenly everyone five or six years later was “developing” solar.
I was amongst these New Frontiersmen, who transitioned from condo bust to solar boom… another sad real estate refugee: brokering land and property deals, not for apartments and condominiums, but for solar farms and solar rooftops… In my case, modest gains and small successes mitigated, if not precluded in the first place, by the failure of my previous, same-named business in Florida — and far more preclusive, the public destruction of not only my business, but personal name and reputation.
Fast forward to now. After shell-shock and mortification has faded, and I've become jaded enough not to feel... The damages lingering, the rushes to judgment too painfully permanent… I’ve slowly begun letting a thought or two loose again.
Any "leadership" dreams therein paused, out of reach now… I am happy to follow; defer until asked. I’ll no longer harass, chase and “follow up” work-wise. I’m no longer feeling the need for such efforts. Unable to see tangible benefits stemming…
I’m unwilling to keep being forced to prove, nay, defend myself at each furious turn of a new customer’s screw. Each childish promise of internet Yelp-ing, each threat of “review” if demands are not met…
No thank you. Prefer to stay closed for business.
At the risk of sounding some churlish poet, pissed at the world and therefore “punishing” it by refusing to share my work… I prefer to stay home.
I am no longer angry, though.
Now I’m free.
