This post runs the risk of falling into the category of "when I was in school we walked 5 miles through the snow uphill both ways every day". Except it has to do with being in my profession. Apologies to all who aren't, but somehow I think you'll get it, nonetheless.
When I was new to Real Estate, I was hungry. It had to work - failure was not an option because there weren't many more quarters in the huge glass jar to roll so I we could buy milk for the kids. (Slight exaggeration but you get the idea). My pager never left my belt loop. I practically slept with it on. I worked between six and seven days a week, and I missed a LOT of soccer and hockey games. Like I said, I was hungry.
Eight years later I still conduct business like I'm hungry.
Which brings me to what kinda got me hyped up today.
It was a little busy - dropping off feature sheets, showings, working the phones to procure multiple offers on a hot new listing. My pager beeps, and it is a message to call a local number. As always, I call back within 5 minutes. The lady wants to see the hot new listing - the very one I hope will sell in multiple offers tonight. I have no idea how I'm going to fit her in, but I know that in the best interests of our client we have to get her in there today in case she wants to submit an offer too.
So I do what any top producing realtor with a share-the wealth attitude would do. I put out the word to my colleagues, thinking particularly of the newbies who could use a break.
Imagine my surprise when the first person to return my call is the third busiest person in the office (after me and my partner Tracey). He saw the page, knew he could help and got right back to me. These are likely bona-fide clients with a little hand holding, so I'm quite pleased with the results and I know the situation is in good hands!
Now, digressing for a moment, I hear stories all the time of new Realtors who think they are going to walk into a brokerage and "interview the manager or broker" like they are all that and the brokerage would be lucky just to have them. "How many leads will you hand me?" is the question I hear most. I laugh, thinking I could be absolutely rich if I had ever been "handed leads".
Its all about old fashioned hard work. Not waiting six hours to look at the blackberry or return calls. Getting out there and meeting people, conducting open houses and hanging off every word out of the mouth of the company's top producers. Things I still do.
It becomes apparent on days like today why it is so true that 10% of us do 90% of the business.
When I got a call six hours later 'wondering if anyone had taken care of that client', I really wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.
God help me if the hunger pangs ever go away.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A Matter of Convenience
Most people take stock around the first of January. Given my proclivity to swimming upstream just because I don't do anything the easy way, I wait until a little way into the year to analyze how its going so far.
I've realized something. The less friends I have the happier I am. It's time to cut the fat, as it were. I have a ton of acquaintances - that's the nature of my business. I'm always out schmoozing, working a room, making strategic alliances.
But when I'm feeling bummed and I just want a friendly "hello" who do I call or text? The list is short, and getting shorter as I raise my expectations of what a friend should be. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about being needy, wanting a perpetual shoulder to cry on or that sort of thing. I'm talking about just touching base, knowing that whether I need something or not is irrelevant. Sometims just the voice of a friend or a quick joke by text does the trick. Once in a while but hardly ever it involves dropping what you're doing and being there for me. I have been that to a lot of people - un-reciprocated in some cases. And the thing is, being a friend can sometimes be inconvenient, but the worst case scenarios I expect from a true friend is "In the middle of something babe, let me call you in 20 minutes". And then they do.
And when one is all that to other people and it doesn't go both ways, it becomes evident that what really exists here is a friendship of convenience, for the other party, not me. Or really maybe it was nothing more than acquaintances from the beginning.
Yep, it's time to do some trimming. It might seem shocking to some that I'm dumping friends in a public forum, but you know what? They'll never know, because the one's I've dumped are the ones who will never read this anyway.
It's all good.
Less baggage, good to go. Get on board or get outta my way. Lock and load baby its gonna be a great year!
I've realized something. The less friends I have the happier I am. It's time to cut the fat, as it were. I have a ton of acquaintances - that's the nature of my business. I'm always out schmoozing, working a room, making strategic alliances.
But when I'm feeling bummed and I just want a friendly "hello" who do I call or text? The list is short, and getting shorter as I raise my expectations of what a friend should be. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about being needy, wanting a perpetual shoulder to cry on or that sort of thing. I'm talking about just touching base, knowing that whether I need something or not is irrelevant. Sometims just the voice of a friend or a quick joke by text does the trick. Once in a while but hardly ever it involves dropping what you're doing and being there for me. I have been that to a lot of people - un-reciprocated in some cases. And the thing is, being a friend can sometimes be inconvenient, but the worst case scenarios I expect from a true friend is "In the middle of something babe, let me call you in 20 minutes". And then they do.
And when one is all that to other people and it doesn't go both ways, it becomes evident that what really exists here is a friendship of convenience, for the other party, not me. Or really maybe it was nothing more than acquaintances from the beginning.
Yep, it's time to do some trimming. It might seem shocking to some that I'm dumping friends in a public forum, but you know what? They'll never know, because the one's I've dumped are the ones who will never read this anyway.
It's all good.
Less baggage, good to go. Get on board or get outta my way. Lock and load baby its gonna be a great year!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
It's all good....even when it is not....
I have to thank my good friend Keith for that bit of wisdom.
Today feels blah. Everything about it. Never mind the hallmark holiday we know as Valentine's Day - it is just a blah day.
Business is OK but not great; I'm tired and need a break; gotta send Andrew more money so he can eat; lost a client for no good reason other than that he's fickle, and we busted our butts for him. Jerk. It is just one of those days.
Then I think about Keith. He's been through a lot more tough stuff than I have lately. I've been calling him up on a regular basis just to make sure he's been hanging in there. But you know, for all he's got going on, I can still hear him smiling through the phone. And if I said let's go for a drink, I'd go pick him up and he'd give me a big hug and tell me all that's good in his world.
Given that I'm predisposed to bouts of melancholy, I wonder where some people get their inner strength. I believe some people are just born with an optimism gene - something apparently missing my my DNA. I wonder at their ability to be up... always smiling, always seeing the bright side of any situation.
Today, I feel like going home, crawling under the covers and getting lost in a mindless afternoon of television.
Now, people often tell me I'm strong. I guess I would have to agree with that, but I can't seem to do it in the same chipper way as those eternal optimists for whom one would never know had a care in the world if one wasn't in that person's inner circle. I'll be miserable, moody and depressed, but I'll get through.
So, to all the "Keiths" in my life - and especially Keith himself - thanks for your ability to help me believe that it's all good, even when it is not. You're all annoying as hell but I'm glad you are in my life. :)
Tomorrow will be a better day!
Today feels blah. Everything about it. Never mind the hallmark holiday we know as Valentine's Day - it is just a blah day.
Business is OK but not great; I'm tired and need a break; gotta send Andrew more money so he can eat; lost a client for no good reason other than that he's fickle, and we busted our butts for him. Jerk. It is just one of those days.
Then I think about Keith. He's been through a lot more tough stuff than I have lately. I've been calling him up on a regular basis just to make sure he's been hanging in there. But you know, for all he's got going on, I can still hear him smiling through the phone. And if I said let's go for a drink, I'd go pick him up and he'd give me a big hug and tell me all that's good in his world.
Given that I'm predisposed to bouts of melancholy, I wonder where some people get their inner strength. I believe some people are just born with an optimism gene - something apparently missing my my DNA. I wonder at their ability to be up... always smiling, always seeing the bright side of any situation.
Today, I feel like going home, crawling under the covers and getting lost in a mindless afternoon of television.
Now, people often tell me I'm strong. I guess I would have to agree with that, but I can't seem to do it in the same chipper way as those eternal optimists for whom one would never know had a care in the world if one wasn't in that person's inner circle. I'll be miserable, moody and depressed, but I'll get through.
So, to all the "Keiths" in my life - and especially Keith himself - thanks for your ability to help me believe that it's all good, even when it is not. You're all annoying as hell but I'm glad you are in my life. :)
Tomorrow will be a better day!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Bridezilla's Got Nothing on Me Baby!
Lauren is in grade 8. We've put down a deposit on the grad trip, and talks about where we're going shopping for a prom dress have begun.
I wasn't anticipating becoming emotionally involved in this but I'm getting in deeper with each passing day. As Lauren's excitement grows mine does too. Funny how it wasn't the same with her older brothers - at least not to the same extent. After all, a tux is a tux. But all this talk of a dress and shoes and makeup and hair and I realize how much fun it is to be the mom of a beautiful, smart young woman who is quickly growing up before my eyes.
I've already made the pledge to myself - I will not exert undue influence on her choice of a frock for grad festivities. Short of stopping her from dressing like a trollop, I will allow her the freedom to express herself as she sees fit. Somehow I know we'll be on the same page, or at least within the same chapter of the book.
What I will do is be there to make sure everything goes perfectly for her. And that's where it starts to get scary. Lauren wants to make sure her hair is perfect that day, so I've booked her cut and colour and a trial run of the 'do' about a week before the big day. Then, while I was at our hairdresser's I phoned the school, confirmed the date for Grade 8 grad and booked the hair appointment for 1pm that day - knowing full well that my daughter has done such a good job promoting our stylist that at least a dozen other girls from her school are his clients now too. I'll be darned if Lauren will be out in the cold for a hair appointment on her big day. We're in baby and it'll be impossible to convince us to give up our precious time slot.
I'm already checking the new stock as it comes in to my fav shop. They have a registry there which prevents other girls at the same school from buying the identical e dress once we've procured it. I have an "in" there and I get to see everything before it is put out on the floor.
Oh yeah, I won't interfere with her choices - the day is all hers. But she won't ever forget that mom helped make it all happen and cheered from the sidelines all the way.
The only thing left to do is make sure I pick up a waterproof mascara for June 24th. Prom is a blood sport so let the games begin!
I wasn't anticipating becoming emotionally involved in this but I'm getting in deeper with each passing day. As Lauren's excitement grows mine does too. Funny how it wasn't the same with her older brothers - at least not to the same extent. After all, a tux is a tux. But all this talk of a dress and shoes and makeup and hair and I realize how much fun it is to be the mom of a beautiful, smart young woman who is quickly growing up before my eyes.
I've already made the pledge to myself - I will not exert undue influence on her choice of a frock for grad festivities. Short of stopping her from dressing like a trollop, I will allow her the freedom to express herself as she sees fit. Somehow I know we'll be on the same page, or at least within the same chapter of the book.
What I will do is be there to make sure everything goes perfectly for her. And that's where it starts to get scary. Lauren wants to make sure her hair is perfect that day, so I've booked her cut and colour and a trial run of the 'do' about a week before the big day. Then, while I was at our hairdresser's I phoned the school, confirmed the date for Grade 8 grad and booked the hair appointment for 1pm that day - knowing full well that my daughter has done such a good job promoting our stylist that at least a dozen other girls from her school are his clients now too. I'll be darned if Lauren will be out in the cold for a hair appointment on her big day. We're in baby and it'll be impossible to convince us to give up our precious time slot.
I'm already checking the new stock as it comes in to my fav shop. They have a registry there which prevents other girls at the same school from buying the identical e dress once we've procured it. I have an "in" there and I get to see everything before it is put out on the floor.
Oh yeah, I won't interfere with her choices - the day is all hers. But she won't ever forget that mom helped make it all happen and cheered from the sidelines all the way.
The only thing left to do is make sure I pick up a waterproof mascara for June 24th. Prom is a blood sport so let the games begin!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Open Toe Shoes
It is official. Open toe shoe season is over. Those sexy hot Steve Maddens I bought for the Yellow Brick House gala but which ended up looking very sexy with the wide leg jeans I got at The Pink Closet will be relegated to being carried in a bag destined for indoor wear only. But I'm pretty smug - I was wearing them outside, sans panty hose, right up until the 6th of December!
At 5:30 this morning I awoke and, snug under 3 layers of blankets I could just sense that winter weather had arrived. When the wind is blowing I can hear my Canadian flag in the back yard flapping and a metal grommet making a ting sound on the metal pole. Venturing to the living room I saw that the car will definitely need a few minutes to warm up and several centimetres of snow must be brushed away.
I poured some juice and returned to the retreat of my cozy bed. Flipping on the TV I would be led to believe that the world is coming to an end. Storm warnings are the top news of the morning. But somehow I cannot reconcile the melodrama and hysteria with what I see out my window. Ontarians are such wimps. We don't know snow! I've lived with snow, and trust me, this ain't it!
Nonetheless, the deep, dark, hunkering down season has arrived. It is the time of year when one doesn't feel like going out anywhere after dinner . These days I'm snuggled in bed well before 10pm. The diminishing number of daylight hours is a difficult time of year for me, and once December arrives I find myself anxiously counting down the days to the arrival of the shortest day of the year. Once the 21st of December has passed, the days will get longer, even if only by a minute or two. And in my mind, spring will be be on the way.
Until then, I will amuse myself by listening to native Ontarians whining and carrying on about the horrific winter weather, as if they are shocked that this is what it is like to live in a Northern country like Canada.
For me, the worst part is that I can't venture out today in my open toe shoes.
At 5:30 this morning I awoke and, snug under 3 layers of blankets I could just sense that winter weather had arrived. When the wind is blowing I can hear my Canadian flag in the back yard flapping and a metal grommet making a ting sound on the metal pole. Venturing to the living room I saw that the car will definitely need a few minutes to warm up and several centimetres of snow must be brushed away.
I poured some juice and returned to the retreat of my cozy bed. Flipping on the TV I would be led to believe that the world is coming to an end. Storm warnings are the top news of the morning. But somehow I cannot reconcile the melodrama and hysteria with what I see out my window. Ontarians are such wimps. We don't know snow! I've lived with snow, and trust me, this ain't it!
Nonetheless, the deep, dark, hunkering down season has arrived. It is the time of year when one doesn't feel like going out anywhere after dinner . These days I'm snuggled in bed well before 10pm. The diminishing number of daylight hours is a difficult time of year for me, and once December arrives I find myself anxiously counting down the days to the arrival of the shortest day of the year. Once the 21st of December has passed, the days will get longer, even if only by a minute or two. And in my mind, spring will be be on the way.
Until then, I will amuse myself by listening to native Ontarians whining and carrying on about the horrific winter weather, as if they are shocked that this is what it is like to live in a Northern country like Canada.
For me, the worst part is that I can't venture out today in my open toe shoes.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Gendercide
I remember with great clarity Decembember 6th, twenty years ago. It seems surreal at times that two decades have passed since my world, as a woman, was rocked and the journey, which continues to this day, began that day.
I grew up in a culture where young women found a man, settled down, and produced grandchildren for our parents. I'm not saying that this is necessarily wrong, or that I regret having taken that route. But somewhere in that process I lost my sense of the endless potential and possibility once I became we.
I also lived a world where my dad's was the final word, my husband was the one everyone acknowledged as the head of my house, and my church deemed women unworthy to serve in leaderships roles by virtue of owning an different set of reproductive organs.
December 6th changed all that. Not an overnight change by any means, but it began a process whereby this woman, with no feminist role models began what was not necessarily the most sophisticated intellectual journey.
My self awareness is definitely different than it once was, and because it is an evolution I'm comforted to know that I will continue to learn more about myself and my gender and it will be different next year.
Sadly, the massacre will earn only a passing mention in the news today. We have a national day of remembrance for the men and women who have fought and died for our freedom. We need a national day of remembrance so that 14 women in Montreal will not have died in vain.
But, as long as most of the governments on this planet are patriarchal by make up, and a blind eye is turned to the many cultures and religions in the world where abuse of women and girls is an accepted way of life and death, it will be left to us women to make sure the story of December 6th is passed down through the generations.
I look at the endless possibility just waiting for my 13 year old daughter Lauren to explore and embrace, and it makes me smile.
Please, let us never forget:
Geneviève Bergeron, aged 21;Hélène Colgan, 23;Nathalie Croteau, 23;Barbara Daigneault, 22;Anne-Marie Edward, 21;Maud Haviernick, 29;Barbara Maria Klucznik, 31;Maryse Leclair, 23;Annie St.-Arneault, 23;Michèle Richard, 21;Maryse Laganière, 25;Anne-Marie Lemay, 22;Sonia Pelletier, 28; andAnnie Turcotte, aged 21.
Maryse would have been 45 years old this year, just like me.
I grew up in a culture where young women found a man, settled down, and produced grandchildren for our parents. I'm not saying that this is necessarily wrong, or that I regret having taken that route. But somewhere in that process I lost my sense of the endless potential and possibility once I became we.
I also lived a world where my dad's was the final word, my husband was the one everyone acknowledged as the head of my house, and my church deemed women unworthy to serve in leaderships roles by virtue of owning an different set of reproductive organs.
December 6th changed all that. Not an overnight change by any means, but it began a process whereby this woman, with no feminist role models began what was not necessarily the most sophisticated intellectual journey.
My self awareness is definitely different than it once was, and because it is an evolution I'm comforted to know that I will continue to learn more about myself and my gender and it will be different next year.
Sadly, the massacre will earn only a passing mention in the news today. We have a national day of remembrance for the men and women who have fought and died for our freedom. We need a national day of remembrance so that 14 women in Montreal will not have died in vain.
But, as long as most of the governments on this planet are patriarchal by make up, and a blind eye is turned to the many cultures and religions in the world where abuse of women and girls is an accepted way of life and death, it will be left to us women to make sure the story of December 6th is passed down through the generations.
I look at the endless possibility just waiting for my 13 year old daughter Lauren to explore and embrace, and it makes me smile.
Please, let us never forget:
Geneviève Bergeron, aged 21;Hélène Colgan, 23;Nathalie Croteau, 23;Barbara Daigneault, 22;Anne-Marie Edward, 21;Maud Haviernick, 29;Barbara Maria Klucznik, 31;Maryse Leclair, 23;Annie St.-Arneault, 23;Michèle Richard, 21;Maryse Laganière, 25;Anne-Marie Lemay, 22;Sonia Pelletier, 28; andAnnie Turcotte, aged 21.
Maryse would have been 45 years old this year, just like me.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Vertical Change
It was inevitable. I knew the day was coming, I just didn't think it would be this soon. All my adult life it has been clear that this would be my fate.
As the trauma of turning 45 has gradually drifted away and dissolved into a peaceful acceptance, bam! It happened.
I am now officially the shortest member of my family. I was running errands with my daughter Lauren and, uncharacteristic for me (and never to happen again I might add) I was wearing flat shoes. Imagine the shock and horror to realize that my 13 year old was looking down at me as we spoke.
When did that happen? The boys were no big deal. I expected them to be tall. I mean, I did marry a man who stands a foot taller then me so I had sort of hoped I would have boys of decent physical stature. But my baby girl? I can just feel the hair turning grey under my latest dye job!
I should be happy that she will be blessed with gorgeous looks and long legs. I am happy, albeit concerned for different reasons....
It's just that I barely survived high school being 'affectionately' called midget, munchkin, and teeny tiny tina and I loved having children who physically looked up to me. It is a whole lot easier to bark orders and have people do my bidding when I'm looking down at them. So what if they were children! Lord knows I didn't have that kind of clout anywhere else.
Fortunately for me I can buy a little more time. I have 5 inch heels. I remain a force with which to be reckoned.
Besides, TnT comes in small packages too!
As the trauma of turning 45 has gradually drifted away and dissolved into a peaceful acceptance, bam! It happened.
I am now officially the shortest member of my family. I was running errands with my daughter Lauren and, uncharacteristic for me (and never to happen again I might add) I was wearing flat shoes. Imagine the shock and horror to realize that my 13 year old was looking down at me as we spoke.
When did that happen? The boys were no big deal. I expected them to be tall. I mean, I did marry a man who stands a foot taller then me so I had sort of hoped I would have boys of decent physical stature. But my baby girl? I can just feel the hair turning grey under my latest dye job!
I should be happy that she will be blessed with gorgeous looks and long legs. I am happy, albeit concerned for different reasons....
It's just that I barely survived high school being 'affectionately' called midget, munchkin, and teeny tiny tina and I loved having children who physically looked up to me. It is a whole lot easier to bark orders and have people do my bidding when I'm looking down at them. So what if they were children! Lord knows I didn't have that kind of clout anywhere else.
Fortunately for me I can buy a little more time. I have 5 inch heels. I remain a force with which to be reckoned.
Besides, TnT comes in small packages too!
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