THROUGH MY EYES, Part I: YORK HARBOR, MAINE

I am late, so late, in my blogging efforts.   Day to day efforts stop me from writing on the topics that I think I should.  You know: the market , the numbers, the facts.  I'm good at numbers and it's hard to argue with the facts.  A risk free entry into the blogging world.  And yet, I drag my feet.

Finally, I know why.  Before I can tell you what I want to tell you, I must first tell you what I need to tell you.  About this place that possesses me.

This is real estate, but this is personal.  Dare I tell you?  Tell strangers, who may read on line, anonymous during day and night.  It feels exhibitionist.   Can you possibly understand?  And once unleashed, perhaps I cannot stop. 

No matter.  I have no choice.  My only hope is to tell the story.  To let this place captivate someone else.  And in so doing, perhaps to set myself free.

We are not born in Realtor suits.  We all arrive at our virtual community with different backgrounds and perceptions.  I used to wear a banker suit.  Navy blue or grey, jacket and skirt.  A frequent traveler, I was constantly stopped at airports and asked what gate for a particular flight.  A few times, when this flight attendant presumption was accompanied by rude behavior, I made up gate information to the farthest corner of the airport. 

The suits we wear not only color our world but the perceptions that others have about us.  And these perceptions, in turn, influence who we are. 

 Lo and behold: donning a Realtor suit does not stop my need to touch, to smell, and to shape the earth so that the universe makes sense to me.  To find or make my home.  The Realtor suit is just one more layer of human complexity.

The first of many secrets:  I used to fall hopelessly in love with houses.  And when I saw a house in disrepair, I always wanted to rescue it.  Until I discovered a much more dangerous trade: the ability to build my own.  The ability to dream it and make it appear.  I discovered that I had the eye.

And yet this dangerous ability came with a small gift.  When I would show this house that I created, amidst choruses of "How can you bear to sell it?", I would always know instantly when I met someone, if this house was meant for them or not.  And when they looked at it through my eyes, they fell in love with the house, too. 

The decision is made.  The die is cast.  Next I will tell you: the story of Ames Field.  But for tonight, I share with you here, literally, my window on the world.  The sunrise each day that tells me all's right.  I hope you can see it through my eyes.