The Rest of the Story

I Wasn’t Always in Real Estate.

Our dream was to own land. We bought five acres and eventually built on it—this was when interest rates were running at 14%, so we built on the cheap. Started with the main level, then finished the lower level a couple years later when we could afford it.

Over the next 25 years, I spent every weekend in the yard or working on the house. We built a garden showplace—not for resale value, not for curb appeal, but because it reflected who we were and how we wanted to live. Two kids and a Labrador and three cats took their toll on the interior, but the bones were good and the place was ours.

By 2007, the kids were gone and we were ready for a change. We bought a condo in the Pearl District—urban living after 25 years in the country. But before we could sell the house, we decided to update the kitchen, baths, and main living area.

Big mistake.

We had to fire two contractors before finding someone who could actually finish the job. By the time it was done, we were way over budget. But it was done. The house we’d built with our own hands was finally ready for whatever came next.

Then the market crashed.

We couldn’t sell without taking a devastating loss—not just on the house, but on the remodel we’d just finished paying for. So we became reluctant landlords.

The woman who rented our home was a longtime friend—a solo contractor who’d been building homes before the crash wiped her out. There’s something about that time that created these webs of people just trying to help each other survive. She needed a place to land. We needed someone who’d care for what we’d built. It worked, in its way—she treated the home beautifully.

But the rent didn’t cover our mortgage, so we made up the difference for years. We could manage because we were both working, but it was a strain. Every month, we were subsidizing a house we couldn’t live in, waiting for a market that might never recover.

What That Time Taught Me

Those years changed how I think about what a home actually is. It’s not an asset class. It’s not a line item. It’s decades of Saturday mornings and dinner parties and quiet evenings. It’s the garden you designed for how the light falls in June. It’s the room where your kids grew up—and the kitchen you finally updated just in time for everything to fall apart.

When I work with clients now—especially those who’ve been in their homes for 20 or 30 years—I understand that we’re not just talking about square footage and comparable sales. We’re talking about a chapter of their life, and the complicated feelings that come with closing it.

I also know what it’s like when timing works against you. When you do everything right and the market doesn’t cooperate. When you have to make hard decisions and choose the path that lets you sleep at night, even if it’s not the one that maximizes returns.

The Path to Real Estate

I came to this work late, after careers that taught me more than I realized at the time. In the music industry, I worked my way from district manager to national sales manager—managing accounts, leading sales teams, running seminars, and eventually handling the national account with Costco. Six years at Microsoft taught me how technology could solve problems, and how it couldn’t.

What those years gave me was practice: listening to what people actually need, not just what they say they want. Working through high-stakes decisions where the right answer isn’t obvious. Staying calm when things go sideways.

Real estate, it turns out, needs all of that.

Your home is more than four walls and a roof. I learned that lesson the hard way—over budget, over time, and through a crash that changed everything. It shapes every conversation I have with clients who are facing their own transitions.

Let’s Talk

If you’re starting to think about your next chapter, I’d be happy to have a conversation. No pitch, no pressure—just a chance to hear what you’re considering.

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