There are gifts that feel generous because of what they are worth. And then there are gifts that feel generous because of what they ask you to see. This was the second kind.
Years ago, I represented clients who lived at 1550 State Parkway, in Chicago. They had a remarkable home and a truly extensive collection of African art. Every time I came through the property, I noticed it. I admired it. I commented on it. Their collection had presence — masks, figures, dolls, pieces with history and feeling and force.
After the sale, they invited me over and said something I will never forget: We know how much you’ve admired our art. As a thank-you, we want you to choose whichever piece you like.
Can you imagine? It was an extraordinary gesture. Not simply because they were offering me something beautiful, but because they were inviting me into a decision that felt deeply personal. They were asking me to choose not from what was available, but from what I felt connected to. And that is a very different kind of choosing.
The Piece That Drew Me In
There were many artworks I could have chosen. There were masks. There were dolls. There were objects that were more obviously dramatic, more immediately commanding, perhaps more impressive in the conventional sense. But my attention kept returning to one figure.
He looked, at first glance, almost pathetic. Poorly dressed. Humble. A little forlorn. He did not have the polish or power of some of the other pieces around him. He did not announce himself. He did not try to win the room. And yet I could not stop looking at him. There was something beautiful and soulful in his face. Something that made me feel he was richer than he appeared.
Stephen eventually named him Riches. I loved that. Because on the surface, he may have looked impoverished. But he had lived in a very wealthy home. More importantly, he had a richness of spirit that had nothing to do with the outer signs of wealth. That is what I saw in him. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that is what he showed me.
Beyond the Surface
We say all the time that you should never judge a book by its cover, but most of us still do. We make quick assessments. We respond to polish. We assume that the most impressive thing must be the most valuable thing. And yet, some of the most meaningful things in life don’t reveal themselves that way. They require a second look.
Riches required a second look. He wasn’t the obvious choice, and that may be precisely why I chose him. I felt connected to him. I felt something in his presence that confirmed itself before I could explain it. That kind of instinct matters to me. It may not be logical in the way other people expect. It may not be easy to justify. But if something draws you in — if it keeps asking for your attention — there is usually a reason. And sometimes the reason only becomes clear after you have trusted it.
Trusting What You Know
I have always believed that you have to trust what you believe. Not in a stubborn way. Not in a way that refuses to learn. But in the deeper sense that your own response to beauty, to people, to places, to homes, is worth honoring.
You don’t have to choose what everyone else would choose, and you don’t have to follow the most obvious path.
You can respond to the beat of a different drum. You can lead a new crowd down a different path. You can dance your own dance. You can look past the piece that shouts and choose the one that quietly insists. That is what happened with Riches. In a room full of remarkable art, he was the one that spoke to me. Not because he was perfect. Not because he seemed grand. But because there was something in him that felt deeply alive and connecting. He has soul.
The Gift That Remained
A gift like that becomes more than a gift.
It carries the memory of the clients who gave it. It carries the story of a successful sale, yes, but also of a relationship built with enough trust and affection that they wanted me to take something meaningful from their home into mine. And maybe that is why Riches has stayed so important to me. He reminds me that real estate, at its best, is not only about properties changing hands. It is about the lives inside those properties. The collections. The histories. The attachments. The moments when a home reveals something about the people who lived there, and the relationship continues even after the closing.
And every time I see Riches, I am reminded that richness is not always visible at first glance. Sometimes it is hidden in expression. In spirit. In the quiet dignity of something that does not need to prove itself. That is why his name is so perfect. Because he was never poor at all.
In my continued journey of Happily Ever Always™…
