O P I N I O N

THE SOAPBOX

Stand up. Speak Up. It’s Your Turn

A few years ago I participated in Career Day at both West High School and Central High School in Manchester.  My role in that passion play was “Real Estate Agent,” and I was one of a few dozen professionals who explained what they did for a living to a succession of classes during the day.  Now, I’m not a big fan of public speaking, and you won’t find a tougher crowd than a class full of freshmen toward the end of a long school day, unless it’s a class full of seniors at the beginning of a school day, when they still have plenty of energy and wisecracks stored up. But on the whole it went pretty well, especially when I passed around photos of some disgusting things I’ve found in vacant houses.

In addition to grossing the students out, I dutifully explained that you didn’t need an expensive college degree to get into and succeed at real estate (and I could feel the teachers’ eyes shooting daggers at the back of my head as I said it).  I pointed out that being a Real Estate Agent is not a job; rather, you are running your own business, with all the risks and rewards that come with being an entrepreneur.  And I promised those kids that they would never be bored in the real estate business.

I fielded a lot of questions, some insightful, some silly.  One young gentleman got so excited by my recitation that he asked for my card and said, “I’m totally getting into real estate!” And one of the teachers called me during a break to ask advice about a family property, so I was able to provide some value to the adults as well.

One very earnest student—lets call her Rachel—asked with a tinge of worry in her voice if I knew I wanted to be a real estate agent when I was in high school, a question that deserved a long, sincere reply which the ringing bell prevented me from delivering.

Had I been given a few more minutes, I would have told Rachel and the class that I don’t think I ever knew what I wanted to be.  The first thing I remember aspiring to be was an archaeologist.  As a boy I had been charmed by the romantic, real-life exploits of Heinrich Schliemann, the discoverer of ancient Troy, and Howard Carter, who first peeked into the tomb of Tutankhamen.  In high school I had no clue what I wanted to be, but I knew it was neither of the professions a career aptitude test told me I was perfect for: florist or pipe-fitter (and that was the last time I ever believed the results of a standardized test).  By my college years I thought I wanted to be a magazine publisher.  As a “grown up” I became a rare book dealer and subsequently worked in the financial services industry.  It wasn’t until I was 50 years old that I touched down as a real estate agent.

I still think of Rachel every year around this time, as my Facebook feed fills with mortar-board hats, acceptance letters, and congratulatory yard signs, and I wonder how many of those gleeful graduates have their next several decades mapped out, and how many are secretly terrified by their lack of a map.  I was terrified at graduation, and for decades afterwards; but I can say now that loved the journey, and I love where it brought me.

If my mind had been quicker on that Career Day, I could have told Rachel not to worry – that indecision is a gift, that in youthful confusion lies adventure and opportunity, and that it’s okay to shove the map in the glove compartment and just drive.  You’ll feel fear, for sure, but it’s really just another flavor of excitement.

Of course, I wish I could have viewed the quest for a career as philosophically at age 18 as I can now; but I guess the curse of youth is the inability to see into the future and know that everything will be okay.

Greg Powers lives in Manchester, and if you need to see a guy about a house, he’s your guy. Find him at gregpowers@kw.com

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