And It’s Not About Snow and Ice.

By Lisa R. Conner

I remember November 2007.

Something shifted.

I could feel it in the real estate market, but I could also feel it in my gut.

There was a storm coming.

I didn’t know exactly what it would look like or how long it would last, but I knew something was changing.

And wow, was it a doozy.

It was my first hurricane, so to speak.

I’d been a REALTOR® since 2000, and while I’d experienced the usual ups and downs of business, nothing had quite prepared me for what followed.

Then came COVID.

Well, there’s a fireball none of us saw coming.

Different circumstances. Different challenges. Different lessons.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years of real estate, it’s this:

Expect the unexpected.

Prepare the best you can.

Stay curious.

Keep learning.

And never forget the human being in the middle of whatever is happening.

Because markets change.

Life changes.

And sometimes they both change at once.

I’ve Been Thinking About Winter.

Living in Alaska for more than 40 years, I know a thing or two about winter.

We prepare. We winterize. We make plans.

And then winter does whatever winter wants to do.

Sometimes it arrives gently.

Sometimes it kicks the door in.

Lately, I’ve felt a familiar stirring.

I don’t know what the next economic season will bring, and I’m not interested in pretending I do.

But I pay attention.

To the market. To the conversations. To the little changes that don’t always make the headlines.

And to that feeling in my gut.

I’ve learned not to ignore it.

I’ve also learned that fear isn’t particularly helpful without curiosity.

So I ask questions.

I read. I study. I listen. I look at what’s changing and what might be possible.

Not because I expect to predict the future.

Because I want to be prepared to help people make informed decisions when the future feels uncertain.

And that brings me to something I’ve been thinking about for quite some time.

Four Hundred Square Feet.

Years ago, we sold our cabin on Big Lake.

Four hundred square feet.

Not exactly a mansion.

But oh, the life that little place held.

The memories. The laughter. The hopes and dreams. The nostalgia.

So much of my life was wrapped up in that little box on the lake.

I remember leaving for the last time.

I cried.

And then I cried some more.

For days.

It was grief. Real grief.

And if I’m being completely truthful, I’ve never fully recovered from that loss.

Not because selling the cabin was necessarily the wrong decision.

But because a home can hold so much more than its walls.

I wasn’t simply saying goodbye to a piece of property.

I was saying goodbye to a place that held a part of my life I could never quite recreate.

I understood the transaction.

I’d spent years helping other people through transactions.

But understanding the transaction didn’t make the transition any less painful.

There’s a difference.

And sometimes we don’t recognize just how significant that difference is until we’re the ones closing the door for the last time.

The People Behind the Paperwork.

Over the years, I’ve helped people buy their first homes, sell their last homes, build investment portfolios, and make decisions that changed their financial futures.

I’ve watched clients buy multiple investment properties and build substantial wealth in a relatively short time.

I’ve also watched people lose their homes.

I’ve helped people navigate divorce, marriage, inheritance, relocation, retirement, and investments that turned out beautifully.

And some that didn’t.

I’ve laughed with clients until my stomach hurt.

I’ve held people while they cried.

I’ve spent an hour on the phone at midnight listening to someone’s fears and anxieties.

Some of my dearest friendships began with a real estate relationship.

And through it all, I’ve learned that while real estate transactions share many components, the people experiencing them often do not.

The contracts may look similar.

The financing process may be familiar.

The inspections, appraisals, negotiations, and closing documents follow established procedures.

But the human experience?

Oh, that’s another story.

No two people arrive at a real estate decision carrying exactly the same hopes, fears, histories, expectations, or circumstances.

Even when the circumstances look similar from the outside.

Divorce doesn’t feel the same to everyone.

Neither does retirement.

Or inheritance.

Or buying a first home.

Or selling the place where you raised your children. Remember the growth chart you etched into the doorway? Ugh, that one gets me every time.

Transitions may share common threads, but they’re as unique as the humans experiencing them.

And I think that matters enormously.

What Is a REALTOR® Worth?

There’s plenty of conversation about the value of REALTORS®.

What we do. What we charge. Whether technology can replace certain parts of our work.

Those are fair conversations.

We should be able to explain the professional expertise, market knowledge, negotiation skills, and responsibilities we bring to a transaction.

And believe me, there’s plenty that goes on behind the scenes.

Good REALTORS® work hard. Really hard.

I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some exceptional professionals who care deeply about their clients and take their responsibilities seriously.

But I’ve come to believe there’s another dimension of our work that isn’t so easily measured.

How do you put a price tag on helping someone find clarity when they’re overwhelmed?

On recognizing that a client needs more time before making a decision?

On knowing when to ask another question instead of offering another answer?

On listening when someone needs to tell you why leaving a house feels like losing a part of themselves?

You can quantify the financial aspects of a transaction.

You can evaluate professional services, expertise, and results.

But you can’t always quantify the human value of being present with someone during a significant moment in their life.

And perhaps we shouldn’t try to reduce everything to a number.

Real estate is a human interaction as much as it is a financial transaction.

I’ve come to understand that more deeply with every passing year.

Sometimes the Best Thing We Can Do Is Slow Down.

I know. Slow down?

In real estate?

Where everything seems to be urgent, deadlines are everywhere, and someone is always waiting for an answer?

Yes.

Sometimes we need to slow down.

Not the contractual deadlines or the responsibilities we’ve agreed to fulfill.

I’m talking about slowing down enough to see the person in front of us. Truly see them.

To ask questions.

To listen.

To become curious about what’s really happening in their life.

Because sometimes people know they need something to change, but they haven’t figured out exactly what that change needs to be.

They may think they need a bigger house.

Or a smaller one.

Or a different neighborhood.

Or an entirely different life.

And sometimes, after talking it through, they discover that moving isn’t the answer at all.

At least not right now.

That’s okay.

Life goes on. People will continue buying and selling homes in every kind of market.

Some transitions cannot wait.

Others can.

And knowing the difference can be one of the most valuable discoveries a person makes.

I don’t believe my job is to decide what’s right for someone else.

My job is to help them discover what’s right for them, with the information, questions, resources, and guidance they need to make their own decision.

And when that decision involves a real estate transaction, I bring all my professional knowledge and experience to the process.

Both matter.

So Here We Are. Preparing for Winter.

I feel a stir.

Maybe you do, too.

I can’t tell you exactly what lies ahead for the economy or the real estate market.

I’ve lived long enough, and worked through enough unexpected seasons, to know better than to make promises about the future.

But I can tell you what I’ve learned.

Prepare the best you can.

Stay curious.

Learn everything you can.

Ask better questions.

Listen to the answers.

And remember that the person sitting across from you is living a life that extends far beyond the transaction you’re discussing.

I am a human having a human experience, interacting with other humans in all their seasons of life.

That’s what this work has become for me.

And maybe, in many ways, that’s what it always was.

Here in Alaska, winter reminds us that we’re not in control of everything.

We can prepare our homes, check our supplies, put on another layer, and pay attention to the forecast.

But we can’t stop the snow from falling.

We can, however, decide how we meet the season.

With preparation.

With curiosity.

With compassion.

And with the understanding that everyone is navigating a season of their own.

Some are celebrating.

Some are grieving.

Some are beginning again.

Some are simply trying to figure out what comes next.

And sometimes, the most important thing we can do is sit with someone long enough to help them hear what they already know.

Winter is coming.

But life isn’t waiting for spring.

And neither are the people we’re here to serve.

Living in curiosity,

Lisa

Lisa R. Conner is a writer, coach, REALTOR, and entrepreneur based in Alaska. She is the author of Casa Renae: Outgrowing Your Story & Coming Home to Yourself and writes Fireweed & Flannel as a place for honest reflections on reinvention, courage, identity, grief, real estate, and the wild beauty of becoming.