One of the more interesting aspects of a life spent selling real estate is the oft fielded request to meet with a younger person intent on doing what I do. I used to view these requests sheepishly, for who was I to tell someone else what to do? My wife and children will read this with bemusement, or perhaps anger, because they know that telling people what to do is, indeed, my favorite pastime. But I considered career advice for those to whom I am not related something of a reach and up until recently decided against it. Ever since I agreed to indulge in meeting with youthful sorts who wish to find their way by selling homes and condos and sometimes even vacant lots, I have found the experience to be somewhat delightful. I would gladly retell stories of my younger days in this profession with great nostalgia, even when those younger days were mostly filled with ineptitude, failure, and financial distress. I took a meeting once with a young man whom had only recently moved here from a terrible southern state where it was so hot, he said, that the summers were unbearable and even though the winters were better, they, too, were unbearable. He liked the seasons here, he told me, and I nodded in agreement. We sat at a coffee shop, me with my wisdom and stories and he with a notepad and a freshly sharpened pencil. Odd, I thought, to bring a pencil to a meeting such as this, when my intellect and wisdom were sitting across from him at his personal disposal. A pen, filled with ink, would be a better medium, I figured. Nonetheless, we chatted and I pontificated, of my younger life and my struggles and my success, offering up antidotes and advice of all varieties. I explained what it would take to find success, and how long it might take, and even what not to do if he wished to be of the rare real estate ilk that might be respected, or at least admired, in their community. Towards the end of our conversation I noticed that not once did the man put his pencil to paper, and it had be wondering if my advice was only valuable to me, and if my words were only poignant and cleverly arranged in my own mind. In my closing remarks, with his pencil still sharp and his page still blank, I told him of one of my favorite bands, a quasi-punk rock group called Blink-182. I quoted a lyric of a song that I felt applied to this situation, “with many years ahead to fall in line why would you wish that on me, I never want to act my age”, was how it went. I told him this to help him realize that his life would be long and varied and he had no reason to jump into work at such a young age, as I had done and at this point in my life, deeply regret. It was during this recital of a late 90s punk rock lyric that his pencil finally found the paper, and after nearly two hours of conversation about the ins and outs of this career the only thing this man thought to write down was the only thing I had to tell him that wasn’t my own advice. I’ve since stopped taking meetings with young aspiring professionals, as the damage to my ego has yet to fully heal.
