There are words that follow you through life. Some you choose, and some seem to choose you. For me, that word has always been enthusiasm.
Not the loud kind, or the performative kind, or anything that calls attention to itself. I’m talking about something quieter, a kind of underlying current. The feeling of being genuinely engaged, of caring deeply, of being fully present in what’s right in front of me.
Over time, I’ve come to believe that enthusiasm isn’t just a personality trait. It’s a force. And like all forces, it moves outward. People often ask what keeps me going after all these years in real estate. They expect a strategic answer — market knowledge, discipline, negotiation skills. And of course, those things matter. But if I’m being honest, what really fuels me is much simpler than that.
It’s when someone reaches out and says, “I was referred by so-and-so… can you help us?” That’s the gas in the tank. Because referrals aren’t built on data. They’re built on shared history and on a feeling that lingers long after the transaction is over. And more often than not, that feeling is created by enthusiasm.
When I walk someone through a home, I’m not just thinking about the specifications. I’m thinking about possibility. I’m noticing how the light moves through the space in the late afternoon, imagining how the rooms might come alive with people, with conversation, with everyday life. I’m thinking about who lived there before, about the rhythm of the block, the school down the street, the bakery around the corner.
Homes don’t come out of nowhere. They carry lives within them — stories, celebrations, arguments, quiet mornings, late-night conversations. When someone buys a home, they’re stepping into something that began long before them and will continue long after them. And when you can help someone feel that — when you widen the lens just enough — something shifts. They’re no longer just evaluating a property. They’re connecting to a place. They’re beginning to see themselves inside it. That shift is where enthusiasm does its work.
At its core, enthusiasm is a form of generosity. It’s the instinct to share what you know, to offer context, to make the experience richer than it would have been otherwise. It’s rooted, for me, in a very simple idea — the golden rule: do unto others as you would want them to do unto you. It may sound straightforward, even old-fashioned. But lived consistently over time, it becomes something far more powerful. Because in a world that often feels transactional, enthusiasm is inherently relational. It says, I’m invested in your experience — whether or not there’s an immediate outcome.
People feel that difference right away. We all do. We know when someone is pushing us, and we know when someone is guiding us. One creates resistance. The other creates trust.
Over the years, I’ve been fortunate that my buyers trust me to resell their homes. But that proverbial gift that comes to me, years later, is when that new buyer calls me, rather than their former broker to now resell that same home. I’ve been blessed to sell the same property two, three, even four times. And I don’t think that happens because I’m louder or more aggressive. It happens because people remember how they felt when I toured them in a house they decided to call home.
They remember being welcomed into the story of a place. They remember being given perspective, history, texture. They remember a certain warmth. That’s what stays with people. And that’s why enthusiasm spreads. It has a way of lowering defenses. It invites rather than persuades. In that sense, it’s a kind of quiet hospitality — creating a space where people feel comfortable, seen, and able to imagine what’s possible.
We don’t talk enough about the power of energy, but it’s always there. You can walk into a room and subtly drain it, or you can lift it — not with noise, but with presence. Enthusiasm, at its best, is simply presence. It’s choosing to be engaged, to be curious, to care. And when you show up that way consistently — year after year, conversation after conversation — something begins to happen. People carry that experience with them. They speak your name in rooms you’re not in. They pass you along. Not because they were impressed. Because they were moved.
Enthusiasm doesn’t ignore the realities of the business — the complexity, the negotiations, the emotional weight of big decisions. It simply refuses to let cynicism take the lead. It’s a decision, made over and over again, to remain open. To remain generous. To remain hopeful. And in a world that can so easily become hardened, that kind of openness stands out.
Rare things tend to spread. That’s why enthusiasm is contagious. And if you’re fortunate, it becomes something more than just a way of working. It becomes a thread — one that connects people, places, and moments across time.
Happily Ever Always.™
