Finding Room to Think: Reflections on Real Estate Leadership

Looking back, I realize the moment had a primordial quality. It felt embryonic: floating in a body of salt water, absorbing the heat of the sun. Surrounded by craggy mountains of gneiss that rose more than a quarter of a mile from the sea, I allowed my kayak to cradle me. All was quiet. There was nothing to say. My mind was empty and there was nothing to do. There was only the moment.

Throughout the year, my mind becomes cluttered with scraps of paper and Post-it notes—each conveying another thought, idea, strategy or action item. The latest technology to deploy. A new outing to reinforce our team’s remarkable culture. An exercise to introduce to an agent who is struggling to break out of a rut. Thankfully, I have an incredible staff who have grown used to pivoting with frequency and speed. Unfortunately, like any of Wagner’s many operas (or, if you prefer, a Joey Chestnut hot-dog-eating contest), there can be too much of a good thing. After a while, even the most capable and hardy among us begin collapsing under the weight of excess—waiting for a moment of reprieve to collectively catch our breath before beginning anew.

On Day One of a vacation, as I attempt to transition from sixty-plus-hour work weeks to days of poolside bliss, I traditionally work five or so hours. By Days Two and Three, I’ve reduced my responsibilities to no more than three or four hours. Then, by the Fourth Day, my workload has usually been narrowed to less than sixty minutes. For a kid born into difficult financial circumstances, this commitment to work never felt burdensome. Instead, in a perverse way, the imposition was a privilege. Every phone call was potentially another dollar earned. Every email meant that I was, perhaps, one step closer to financial security.

This vacation, however, was different. I didn’t check in nor did I hear from the office for the first four days that we were in Norway. During the ensuing week, I found myself obligated to handle something job-related for less than an hour before running off to explore the next jaw-dropping landscape. As the days passed, my burden lightened while the Post-it notes slowly lost their grip.

I’ve always felt that there are two types of work: that which is imposed by a calendar and that which necessitates unstructured time devoted to thinking. I love living in my head. I’m grateful for the opportunity to read and I treasure the challenge of a difficult  New York Times crossword puzzle. I find pleasure in writing and ideating. Strategy and forecasting are forms of problem-solving and they’re fun. Unfortunately, the exigencies associated with the spring real estate market demand structure: scheduled phone calls, appointments, and meetings. There’s not much time to allow your mind to explore- something that is increasingly important as I continue to transition from agent to CEO.

As I explored the ancient fjords of Norway, the yoke of responsibility loosened and I began to breathe. As I began to relax, biology took over and I found myself engaged in what I’m inherently programmed to do- think. I’m not claiming that every idea born in quiet is good. But I had forgotten how much useful thinking depends on having room to think.

Instinctively, my mind turned to Elysian and the nagging realization that, despite our commitment to AI, in the past twelve months we’ve moved much more slowly than I would have liked. As we entered the final stretch of the selling season, I began to formulate a plan to pivot into recruiting mode. The ideas gushed forth but, this time, there was order and control. Without effort, I had created a document that would become my Q4 Working Plan.

I had also found an answer to a question so often posed to me by friends and work colleagues, “Why do you work so much while on vacation?” The simple answer is that I’m not.

I picked up my paddle and encouraged the kayak forward. As we glided toward the next landmark of my journey, the first Post-it note arrived and I welcomed it knowing that, as my transition into full-time leadership continues, my responsibilities will feel less like drudgery and more like the kind of “work” I have always loved.