My real estate license expires today. I'm finally giving it up. It has taken six years, 5,000 man-hours, and $10,000.00 to reach the conclusion that I'm just not going to make it as a Realtor. It's not who I am. I'm not a salesman by nature, and I've lost my passion for the work. What a shame it took so long to figure that out. I know it is better to try and fail, than to never try at all; but wouldn't it be handy to recognize failure quickly so you don't waste so much time.
I was warned. In class I was told that the average real estate agent earns $7,000.00 per year - that's correct ... seven thousand. There were years when I would have been happy to make that much. I've watched as other agents turned in their licenses - 30% of Maryland agents last time I looked. That should have been a clue. I looked on as my friends and family chose other agents instead of me. Ouch! My broker told me once, "If I had family like yours, I would disown them."
On the bright side, the clients I did work with were very happy. And I never had a contract that failed to close. I might try again in the future ... maybe when I retire? Get re-certified, find a broker to hang my license with, buy a new car, new suits, new smart phone. Then again ... maybe not.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
I Can Fix That
I have a lot of broken stuff that I'm going to fix some day. I repaired a paper shredder last week. Now I can shred all those papers I've been unwilling to dispose of whole. There is something inherently satisfying in the sounds of a paper shredder at work - chewing up sheets of paper and spitting them out. Coherent thoughts and ideas go in one end, incomprehensible confetti dribbles out the other. I know people whose minds work just like that.
While I was happily shredding away, I came across the following note written across the back of an empty envelope:
While I was happily shredding away, I came across the following note written across the back of an empty envelope:
"Hand in hand we walk together on the sand, our lives together have begun. We kiss and our hearts join as one, our souls bound together by the sun. What is love? How can we hope to know? A dream ... a feather on the snow."
Hmmm ... what do you do with that? Zzzzzzzzzt! Isn't a shredder a wonderful thing.
Hmmm ... what do you do with that? Zzzzzzzzzt! Isn't a shredder a wonderful thing.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Potential
For as long as I can remember, people have said, "He has such potential!" And it's true. Even this late in life, I really do have a lot of potential ... but only because I am such a slow learner. It's an unfortunate part of my nature, but I really do learn slowly. I've compensated with a "lifelong learning policy", but I know I'll never really catch up. Alas ... Potential.
It's a New Year! I didn't make any resolutions because I haven't really accomplished the things I've been working on. But - in general - I plan to refocus my energy to finish a few things that are terribly important to me; and I'm starting to let go of some things I just shouldn't care about anymore. My grandfather used to say, "You spend the first half of your life acquiring stuff, and the second half trying to make it go away." How wise.
Here's wishing you all a safe and productive New Year!
It's a New Year! I didn't make any resolutions because I haven't really accomplished the things I've been working on. But - in general - I plan to refocus my energy to finish a few things that are terribly important to me; and I'm starting to let go of some things I just shouldn't care about anymore. My grandfather used to say, "You spend the first half of your life acquiring stuff, and the second half trying to make it go away." How wise.
Here's wishing you all a safe and productive New Year!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
A Running Joke
Tuesday afternoon was our department's Holiday Luncheon at a fine restaurant in the city. I had the butternut squash ravioli in creamed chive sauce with cranberries and walnuts. Very Good! At lunch, one of my bosses asked about my commute in - it being so odd that I was late. When I got to the part about that ride to Metro, the entire table became silent. The guy who sits in the cube across from mine said, "Oh my God. Stranger Danger!" I had to ask for clarity. "Stranger Danger! It's from elementary school. You don't get in a car with strangers. Are you crazy?" I said, "She was alone", but that just made it worse. That's when the questions started:
Were you hitchhiking? No.
She just stopped and picked you up? Yes.
And she drove you all the way to Metro? Yes.
Was she good looking? Uh ... well ... yeah, she was.
Did she have a nice car? Yes.
And you've never met her before? No, but she sees me at the bus stop all the time.
Have you ever done this before? No.
Was she married? No , she was divorced. (Hmmm ...)
Did she have a good job? Yes
Did you get her number? No.
Did she tell you where she lived? Uh ... well ... yeah, she did.
Do you think your wife is setting you up? No.
It became a running joke for the rest of the day. I was surprised at how much I knew about this total stranger. And I wondered how much information I'd divulged about myself on that ride. Forty minutes is a long time. I know she was just a nice person who put herself at risk by helping someone in need. I could have lied at lunch and said I caught the 8:10am bus, but I didn't; so I guess I deserved the good natured ribbing. After all, it is an odd story.
As we left the office that evening, someone asked, "Would you do it again?" I gave a blank look. "If she comes by the bus stop tomorrow, will you get in her car?"
On Wednesday, I wore a little more clothing, the 7:20am bus was only five minutes late, and I didn't see my new friend. Life is back to normal.
Were you hitchhiking? No.
She just stopped and picked you up? Yes.
And she drove you all the way to Metro? Yes.
Was she good looking? Uh ... well ... yeah, she was.
Did she have a nice car? Yes.
And you've never met her before? No, but she sees me at the bus stop all the time.
Have you ever done this before? No.
Was she married? No , she was divorced. (Hmmm ...)
Did she have a good job? Yes
Did you get her number? No.
Did she tell you where she lived? Uh ... well ... yeah, she did.
Do you think your wife is setting you up? No.
It became a running joke for the rest of the day. I was surprised at how much I knew about this total stranger. And I wondered how much information I'd divulged about myself on that ride. Forty minutes is a long time. I know she was just a nice person who put herself at risk by helping someone in need. I could have lied at lunch and said I caught the 8:10am bus, but I didn't; so I guess I deserved the good natured ribbing. After all, it is an odd story.
As we left the office that evening, someone asked, "Would you do it again?" I gave a blank look. "If she comes by the bus stop tomorrow, will you get in her car?"
On Wednesday, I wore a little more clothing, the 7:20am bus was only five minutes late, and I didn't see my new friend. Life is back to normal.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A Cold Day
Ever since I exchanged my hotel job in town for a corporate job in the city, I've been dreading this day: The day I would have to take the bus and train to work in the freezing cold. On Tuesday morning, I wore wool trousers and a coat over my jacket, a scarf and two pairs of gloves. It was in the low 20's, with gusty winds, and an inch of snow on the ground; but it's only a ten minute walk to the bus stop. I thought I was prepared ... but I wasn't even close.
The 7:20am bus never showed. At 7: 30am I started pacing around to keep warm. It would be ten more minutes until the next bus arrived. My fingers and toes started to get cold and my face was freezing; but the 7:40am bus didn't show either. I waited another ten minutes, but at 7:50am there was still no bus in sight. I'd been outside for forty minutes, the wind was cutting right through my pants, and I could feel my core body temperature dropping. I had to do something! I considered going back home and starting over; instead I decided to walk to the country store about a half mile up the road. I could warm up in the store, get a hot cup of coffee, and catch the bus at the stop out front.
I walked along the shoulder past cars sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic as far as the eye could see. Once in a while they would move a little ... but not very much. I heard someone call out, "Hey, do you need a ride?" I turned to see a woman in a late model sedan driving up along side. I tried to say "No", but my face was so cold that what came out was, "Umm ... a ... Of course, that would be wonderful, I think I'm slowly freezing to death." I asked if she could drop me at the country store; she said she'd be happy to drop me at Metro since it was on her way to work - and since she was already late, a few extra minutes wouldn't really matter.
When you ride the bus or train, you don't talk to people. It's rude. There are even signs warning that unwanted conversation with passengers is a basis for being ejected; but when you ride in someone's car, you can't really avoid conversation. And she didn't have her radio on, so conversation was kinda' necessary. We spent the next forty minutes together in traffic; and it should have been awkward ... but it wasn't. It was more like two friends who hadn't seen each other in years catching up on each others' lives. At Metro, I thanked her for her kindness and ran to catch the train. What a strange morning. By the time I arrived at the office, it was past 9:00am. It had taken almost two hours to go twenty miles. Wednesday morning looks like it will be even worse. I wonder if I'll survive the winter?
The 7:20am bus never showed. At 7: 30am I started pacing around to keep warm. It would be ten more minutes until the next bus arrived. My fingers and toes started to get cold and my face was freezing; but the 7:40am bus didn't show either. I waited another ten minutes, but at 7:50am there was still no bus in sight. I'd been outside for forty minutes, the wind was cutting right through my pants, and I could feel my core body temperature dropping. I had to do something! I considered going back home and starting over; instead I decided to walk to the country store about a half mile up the road. I could warm up in the store, get a hot cup of coffee, and catch the bus at the stop out front.
I walked along the shoulder past cars sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic as far as the eye could see. Once in a while they would move a little ... but not very much. I heard someone call out, "Hey, do you need a ride?" I turned to see a woman in a late model sedan driving up along side. I tried to say "No", but my face was so cold that what came out was, "Umm ... a ... Of course, that would be wonderful, I think I'm slowly freezing to death." I asked if she could drop me at the country store; she said she'd be happy to drop me at Metro since it was on her way to work - and since she was already late, a few extra minutes wouldn't really matter.
When you ride the bus or train, you don't talk to people. It's rude. There are even signs warning that unwanted conversation with passengers is a basis for being ejected; but when you ride in someone's car, you can't really avoid conversation. And she didn't have her radio on, so conversation was kinda' necessary. We spent the next forty minutes together in traffic; and it should have been awkward ... but it wasn't. It was more like two friends who hadn't seen each other in years catching up on each others' lives. At Metro, I thanked her for her kindness and ran to catch the train. What a strange morning. By the time I arrived at the office, it was past 9:00am. It had taken almost two hours to go twenty miles. Wednesday morning looks like it will be even worse. I wonder if I'll survive the winter?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Mile Post 100
It's hard to believe, but this is my 100th blog entry. To commemorate the event, I'm posting an entry from my personal journal. It's a glimpse of how this all got started. But before I do that, I want to say "Thanks" to Suzanne of "At Home with the Farmer's Wife" for providing the creative spark. Each life touching so many others. It really is a wonderful life.
It's Sunday: July 5th, 2009 - 10:25 PM
I had my first exposure to the blogosphere today. What a strange world we live in. Millions? of writers working tirelessly to produce material read by a total of ten or twenty people ... and all for free? The internet continues to redefine the world as we know it. The newspaper industry is collapsing: everyone gets news from the internet and no one wants to pay. Has the reporter gone the way of the buggy whip maker?
I went "online" to search for Zen Macrobiotics; but before I ran that search, I remembered someone at the hotel saying I showed some signs of Asperger's Syndrome. I ran a search for "Asburgers Symdrome" (Yeah, that's how I spelled it ... Symdrome) on Yahoo, and the top search result was a blog called "At Home with the Farmer's Wife". It had nothing to do with Asperger's, but it did have a lot of cool homesteading stuff; and lot's of links to other blogs with cool homesteading kind of stuff ... and ... well ... it just goes on & on forever. Not really forever in a literal sense, but forever in a personal sense for sure. Millions of people writing blog entries every day - from "Alfredo is hungry this morning" to a discourse on how following the creek by your house can take you anywhere you want to go. The former a sad commentary as to what a writer thinks his readers will find of value; the latter a provoking narrative of the interconnectedness of life strangely reminiscent of that book about the little wooden canoe - "Paddles to the Sea".
The internet is like an uncontrollable thought that constantly leads somewhere else ... and burns up life/hours as if they were free. I never got around to searching for ... what was it? ... oh yeah ... I remember now ... Zen Macrobiotics. It's become damn near impossible to control the content. I found a discussion on one blog about raising chickens, and another discussion on another blog about whether blogging and writing a journal are one and the same. For some people "Yes", for others "No". Those who do both, fell into both camps - some used the different media for different purposes, others found themselves duplicating their entries in both media. I have to envy them and all their spare time. How can anyone have enough time to do both? I can barely find enough time to jot a few thoughts in here. I can't imagine having time to keep a blog ... or anyone else wasting time reading the entries.
How did all this come about? Where is it all leading? Where is the shared experience that makes us a nation? We just seem to get more & more fragmented: a whole nation of individuals. If I write a blog about working at a hotel and repairing trolleys and being a Realtor and fixing cars and gardening and fishing and building model railroads and doing all the other things I love like painting and writing and taking pictures and playing in the band and reading good books (but not fiction) ... would anybody care but me?
I've tried putting up a website but I don't have time to answer e-mails let alone develop web content that would really matter. And yet, there is a strange attraction to the vicarious aspect of a blog. Vanity, egotism ... I'm trying to remember the word that describes someone who considers his own insignificant life so important that others would want to know that "Alfredo is hungry this morning", but the word escapes me ... and Sharon ... and a dictionary ... and two thesauruses. Maybe I should just go run a search on the internet. If I could only stay focused long enough to find the word, I could write it here for no one to read. Sad really, very sad.
... And that is how Scarred Bark began!
It's Sunday: July 5th, 2009 - 10:25 PM
I had my first exposure to the blogosphere today. What a strange world we live in. Millions? of writers working tirelessly to produce material read by a total of ten or twenty people ... and all for free? The internet continues to redefine the world as we know it. The newspaper industry is collapsing: everyone gets news from the internet and no one wants to pay. Has the reporter gone the way of the buggy whip maker?
I went "online" to search for Zen Macrobiotics; but before I ran that search, I remembered someone at the hotel saying I showed some signs of Asperger's Syndrome. I ran a search for "Asburgers Symdrome" (Yeah, that's how I spelled it ... Symdrome) on Yahoo, and the top search result was a blog called "At Home with the Farmer's Wife". It had nothing to do with Asperger's, but it did have a lot of cool homesteading stuff; and lot's of links to other blogs with cool homesteading kind of stuff ... and ... well ... it just goes on & on forever. Not really forever in a literal sense, but forever in a personal sense for sure. Millions of people writing blog entries every day - from "Alfredo is hungry this morning" to a discourse on how following the creek by your house can take you anywhere you want to go. The former a sad commentary as to what a writer thinks his readers will find of value; the latter a provoking narrative of the interconnectedness of life strangely reminiscent of that book about the little wooden canoe - "Paddles to the Sea".
The internet is like an uncontrollable thought that constantly leads somewhere else ... and burns up life/hours as if they were free. I never got around to searching for ... what was it? ... oh yeah ... I remember now ... Zen Macrobiotics. It's become damn near impossible to control the content. I found a discussion on one blog about raising chickens, and another discussion on another blog about whether blogging and writing a journal are one and the same. For some people "Yes", for others "No". Those who do both, fell into both camps - some used the different media for different purposes, others found themselves duplicating their entries in both media. I have to envy them and all their spare time. How can anyone have enough time to do both? I can barely find enough time to jot a few thoughts in here. I can't imagine having time to keep a blog ... or anyone else wasting time reading the entries.
How did all this come about? Where is it all leading? Where is the shared experience that makes us a nation? We just seem to get more & more fragmented: a whole nation of individuals. If I write a blog about working at a hotel and repairing trolleys and being a Realtor and fixing cars and gardening and fishing and building model railroads and doing all the other things I love like painting and writing and taking pictures and playing in the band and reading good books (but not fiction) ... would anybody care but me?
I've tried putting up a website but I don't have time to answer e-mails let alone develop web content that would really matter. And yet, there is a strange attraction to the vicarious aspect of a blog. Vanity, egotism ... I'm trying to remember the word that describes someone who considers his own insignificant life so important that others would want to know that "Alfredo is hungry this morning", but the word escapes me ... and Sharon ... and a dictionary ... and two thesauruses. Maybe I should just go run a search on the internet. If I could only stay focused long enough to find the word, I could write it here for no one to read. Sad really, very sad.
... And that is how Scarred Bark began!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day
My wall calendar lists today as "Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day (US) First of Muharram". Funny how the calendar makers think it's important to note that Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day is a "US" thing, but they don't see a need to footnote First of Muharram - like we should already know what that means. I checked the major news today: Wiki-Leaks founder Julian Assange is arrested for failing to wear a condom while engaging in a one night stand. Not "On Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day Wiki-Leaks founder Julian Assange is arrested for failing to wear a condom while engaging in a one night stand." Is that even a crime?
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