Showing posts with label Real Estate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Real Estate. Show all posts

Monday, January 16, 2023

The Wanderer


I have often quoted Steven Pressfield, author of “Put your Ass where Your Heart Wants to Be.” 


For a writer, it's writing. For a musician, it's making music. For a computer programmer, it's programming. That is if those things are where your heart wants to be. 


Now I know a person must make a living—that is, pay the rent and buy groceries, but there is a desire to do the thing that feeds our spirit.


I’ve been paying my dues to become a Real Estate Agent, and I like houses, helping people, and making money, but what I really want to do is write.


See, I’m writing now. 


Most of today was sucked up with taking an Ethics Course required to become a REALTOR and a member of the Multiple Listing Service. It required study and taking ANOTHER FINAL EXAM. I thought I was complete with those. 


I’m fried.


It was nice to think that someone (William North in 1913) wrote the Code with 16 Articles (plus ten million “Standard Practices”)


Before that, it was “Buyer beware,” for there were many unscrupulous characters out to fleece the public—Multiple First mortgages, get-rich schemes, and the attitude of “Public be damned.” 


The idea behind the Code is “Under all is Land.”


The principle is that in a democracy having many people own many small parcels of land is strength. 


Big land barons controlling great amounts of property suck the strength out of a society.


Kinda makes you want to run out and buy a piece of land, doesn’t it?


But I’m here talking to you, and my fingers and brain like it. I can settle down. I feel calm. I’m writing. It’s the thing I want to do.


I wanted to talk to you about the “Wilderness” that Pressfield talks about.

No, it isn’t a piece of forest such as the land I was talking about. His “Wilderness” is that time when you are avoiding your calling. 


Many people wander around in the Wilderness for months, years, or their entire life.


Many excuses exist: “My dad wants me to be a doctor when I want to be a pilot.” “I can’t do it; I’m not smart enough, good enough, beautiful enough, talented enough,” or other not-enoughs.


“You can catch the ride early or catch it late,” writes Pressfield. “But, like it or not, you were born with your ticket. Sooner or later, the conductor will call, ‘All Aboard!’ and the train—with you on it—will pull out of the station.”


Some might object to the use of the word, “Calling.” I believe, for some, it is. For others, it is a deliberate decision that can grow into a want, desire, or dream you desperately want to fulfill.


Pressfield talks about a friend who is into a “Shadow career.” He knows his calling is out there, but he's still in the Wilderness, and it will be no surprise to learn that his social drinking has taken a dangerous turn. 


Pressfield wandered in the Wilderness for years, basically being a bum, until he pulled himself together and sat down at the typewriter. (He put his ass where his heart wanted to be.) Now he is helping other writers get their act together.


I don’t know if I am describing him accurately, but that’s the gist of it.


I guess we can have a “shadow career” to eat and keep from freezing to death while also pursuing our calling. I’ve heard of people getting up at 3 a.m. to do their writing before going to work. They sneak it in. They practice. 


So, I guess, what I am doing here, is to say. “Go for it.” I know I’m a wanderer, but I do it purposefully, as in the search for the berries, find ripe fruit, go for a swim, to sit under a waterfall (a little one) and wear plaid with stripes.





Movie of the week Lilies of the Field, 1963,  with Sidney Poitier, who won an Academy Award for his role. I remembered it, staring Poitier, with nuns, and singing Amen. That was it. Watching it again was a delight. What a charming film.



Monday, October 31, 2022

A Sneek Preview of Jo's Newsletter


Here is a view of Jo's Newsletter. I don't expect you to read these small images, they are a preview. The content is printed below, so keep scrolling. 
The original PDF version is easy to read in email, but not so much here. I invite you to read this, see if this newsletter rings your chimes, and then sign up for a Free, email version of the Newsletters to come. I need your email address to know where to send it. I won't spam you, I promise.
Hugs from Jo

The other day somebody asked me if I had a Newsletter. 


I didn't then.


I do now.


Should I write one? Why? And would anyone want to read it?


I'm not a big whoopie-do person, but I have many irons on the fire. And as I am easing into the home stretch of becoming a Real Estate Agent—perhaps there is something of interest regarding Real Estate I could provide. Only if it's funny, entertaining, or worth the effort to read. Real Estate can be so dry. I want it to be fun. 


I love getting a new house. But I hate going through the underwriter's process of getting a loan. They want everything but your firstborn child. Maybe I can make that process easier for people. Like, think how much fun it is to have clean cupboards and to place cherished items in an empty house and make it yours. They say that moving is stressful. I like new houses—well, the actual moving of furniture and stuff is wearing, but like camping in a cold, miserable tent can be taxing; in the morning, though, climbing out of a sleeping bag feels like being born again. And those dew drops on the ground cover, are like pillows full of the Fourth of July.


You longtime blog readers, please forgive me for retelling this story, but new readers don't know it, and here I am talking about houses. 


When we bought our first house in Riverside, California, I, with my little two-year-old daughter, visited the empty house. In the living room, I looked up through clerestory windows, and to my utter surprise and amazement, I saw a peacock looking down at me. 


To double my amazement at seeing a peacock, not long before, I discovered that the peacock was my totem animal. 


He came to me during a guided meditation. In my mind's eye, I walked down a forest path until I came to a group of bushes. "It's okay," I said to whoever was hiding in the brambles, "you can come out. It's safe." I expected a cute little furry animal to hop out, or maybe a deer.


A peacock in all his glory, strutted out.


Later I revisited those bushes and asked the peacock why he stayed hidden in the bushes. "Because," he said, "Here I am, the only peacock."


Whoa. That was telling. I, like the peacock, stayed hidden because I was afraid to strut my stuff. 


But that's not the end of the story.


We bought two different houses in San Diego, so see, I’m acquainted with buying houses, and then, fast forward. We moved to Oregon, and bought another house.


After our two daughters had graduated from college, (Don't all parents time events by their children's age?) We were preparing to build a log home on forested property.


We didn't hoist logs. Somebody else did it with the help of Sweet Marie, the crane, our log home designer, loaned us. And I drew the house plans—no hallways unless you call a sunroom one. One evening, before construction, my husband and I walked the road in front of the property, and what did we see? 


A peacock running with a family of wild turkeys.


Ten years later, we moved to Hawaii—no peacock. Then, we moved back to Oregon and bought a small house outside Eugene. Before moving in, I took my little dog, Sweet Pea, and a box of crystal glasses to place in the empty house. And looking out a bedroom window, I saw a peacock sitting on the fence. 


Can you imagine? I was yelling. “Sweet Pea, come look. It's a peacock! I can't believe it. A peacock!" She ran around, trying to see what had excited me. But, again, I couldn't believe it, a peacock in the sleepy town of Junction City, Oregon. 

(Four years later, he still wanders the neighborhood.)


Regarding the house in Riverside, CA, unbeknown to me at the time, it was up the hill from the City Park where the peacock lived when he wasn't on our roof.)

Maybe I'm a slow learner, and it takes three peacocks for me to get the message. 

Maybe he came to bless the houses.



Back to our Real Estate Agency. My daughter will be the Principal Broker, and I will work under her. (Hee hee, she is responsible to see that everything is accurate.)


We are using a Pink Flamingo as a mascot and calling the Agency Vibrance Real Estate Agency LLC. A vibrant Pink Flamingo is significant for you see so many in people's yards. Don't think plastic, though; think of a beautiful vibrant, exquisite Flamingo symbol of perseverance and strength. 


As a power animal, the Flamingo has qualities of cooperation, beauty, brightness, joy, family, relationships, healing, open-heartedness, equality, alliance, clan/tribe ties, and destiny.


Let's go for balance. Can you stand on one leg as long as a Flamingo can?


While we are using the Flamingo for our Real Estate Agency, I am using a peacock here. My daughter and I have talked about getting a lady peahen for Prince Charming, our neighborhood peacock, for in the evenings, we sometimes hear his plaintive call. 


We don’t see much of Prince Charming in the winter, as he molts and loses his tail (Like now.) I think he’s embarrassed and hides, but come spring he will arrive decked out in all his grandeur.




 Thoughts for future newsletters:


More on our irons in the fire.


  • A few comments on Real Estate.
  • On aging. (Life after what 50, 60, 70?) Ever since I saw a question that popped up in my email on why live to old age. And another, "What do old people do?" I felt like ranting. And I will.
  • I'm here to support a vibrant life.


Feel free to respond to me, and if this rings your chimes, please sign up for future issues. It's Free, it's fun, and only by email. And I will ask Prince Charming to give you a tail high-five.


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