My first apartment... heaven on earth: orange shag carpet, green yard-sale sofa, cinderblock-and-plywood bookshelves, and a gargantuan wooden spool for a table (what did you expect? It was 1978 -- I was 18 years old!).
I lived in that apartment for two wonderful years: working, dating, partying (moderately, of course!), and learning a few things about the world and my place in it. Life was simple, exciting, and filled with possibilities. So I cherish every memory of that place -- orange carpet and all.
As a Realtor®, I often feel that we -- all of us, the society as a whole -- have forgotten what a "home" actually is. Houses have become "properties" -- all about the monetary value, as though their inherent emotional, life-affirming value no longer matters or even exists.
I've worked with buyers -- young couples in their 20's -- who seem to feel that their worth as people is somehow compromised if they don't buy a large, impressive home in an upscale neighborhood, complete with granite countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and a master suite in which you could land a small plane.
I try to communicate to these people: Be careful. Don't get caught up in the pursuit of perfection; don't fall into the trap of rejecting every house with a single less-than-ideal feature. Because no matter where you live -- however small or large, shabby or impeccable -- a basic truth always applies: You will remember your home fondly.
You'll remember the life you lived there. You'll remember moving day, holidays, special occasions, visits from family and friends. You'll remember whatever simple, commonplace pleasures your life holds. You'll remember arguing in the kitchen (and making up in the bedroom)... you'll remember munching junk food in front of your favorite movies in the den, and laughing together in the living room at your silly private jokes. You might remember carrying newborns up the front walk, or the quiet incomparable joy of rocking them to sleep by the fireplace... or that funny little thing they said in the back yard one day that became a part of the family jargon... or standing in the bathroom combing their hair on the first day of school, and being utterly astonished at how quickly the years have passed.
And when the time comes to sell, and you've packed your boxes and walk one last time through the empty rooms, you'll be re-living all this, and the memories will be so precious that you won't give much thought to whatever really BUGS you about this house... and if you do remember -- the ugly tile in the kitchen, say, or how you had to squeeze past each other in that tiny master bath -- believe me, even those memories will make you smile.
But I can't say these things to my clients -- not face-to-face. I'm a real estate professional, not a poet or philosopher or commentator on life. If I let myself run on like this, they'd find another agent, someone who would skip the emotional lectures, and simply show them a perfect property to match their comprehensive list of features, benefits and amenities.
So I try to be more succint, and get the point across this way: "I want you to make a good investment. I want you to be happy with your choice. And at the same time, I hope you'll remember: your home is the setting for your life." Sometimes, if they seem intrigued by the thought, I even use the example of my first apartment.
As the years have progressed, I've had nicer homes. I married while living in one, had children in another, divorced in a third. Today I own a small, cozy condominium -- my attempt at simplicity in a chaotic and turbulent world. And though I grumble now about the detached garage -- the inconvenience of lugging groceries across the communal driveway, down the steps, along a walkway, and up a full flight to my front door -- one day when I've moved on again, I'll remember it all with nostalgia and fondness.
I'll remember my son's stealthy, late-night trips to the refrigerator, and my little dog running joyful laps through the rooms, and the light in my daughter's eyes as she opens her college acceptances at the dining room table. I'll remember sitting in the sunshine on the balcony, sipping coffee and watching the grass on the hillside bend in the breeze. I'll remember standing at the stove when the call came from another state telling me my elderly father had wandered off and was missing, and how, many hours later, I was frantically rummaging through a closet, packing a suitcase, when the second call came that he'd been found dazed but unharmed. I'll remember jumping up from my chair in an impromptu victory dance the morning I opened my email and learned an e-zine was publishing a story I wrote... I'll remember the bright bougainvillea on the neighbor's patio, the rich tones of my cherry-wood floor, and how the sound echoes through my living room when I play my piano in the dusk.
Detached garage? Inadequate closet space? Tiny kitchen? Sure. It's small, it's cluttered, it's flawed. But it's home. The setting for memories... the setting for life.
Wishing you a houseful of well-loved memories --
Copyright © 2011 Diane Mora Chino Hills Realtor®
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