Guess what? I signed up for my 1st writing class. It’s called Unleashing the Writer Within. I’m enjoying it so much! Here is my first piece that I wrote for class. (new secrets about me will be revealed!)
It just so happened that today was the day that I found the real me. In my early twenties, I studied investment books and seemly discovered the multi-millionaire real estate tycoon I was destined to become. I idolized Robert Kiyosaki and Donald Trump. I took heed to their advice and purchased every investment property the bank would allow. I didn’t really acknowledge that I knew nothing about property management and could care less about drywall or plumbing. Ironically, things were great… for a while. I was 25 years old with wads of cash from rent carelessly thrown on my coffee table. One of my friends had to tell me, “you look like a drug dealer; you should probably open a business bank account.” Eventually, I learned how to play the landlord game through experience, life’s true professor. However, somewhere between the real estate market plummeting under the wake of greedy banks, and my journey to self discovery; I slowly began to realize my mistakes. My investment egg was scrambled and my tenants and buildings began to fall apart. I found myself stuck in the “what in the hell do I do now phase?”
Being the internet junkie that I am, I found a “Discover Your Life Purpose” survey online. They recommended that you write out all of the things that you have a passion for and keep writing and rephrasing, and grouping things together until you get to the phrase that literally makes you cry. It seemed pretty silly, but I gave it an honest try. I wrote and wrote and then wrote some more. Finally, despite my ambivalent feelings, it actually worked. I even surprised myself when I shed a real tear. The magic purpose for my life was “share your story and inspire people through your writing.” I was overjoyed, it felt so right. But it was also so wrong. How could this be? When I examined the page long list, real estate investor, property manager or anything comparable was nowhere to be found. I could not find one thing related to what I had invested so much of my life to obtain. I couldn’t begin to count the late night trips to the hardware store that were so frequent that I became friends with the employees, or the weekends spent chasing down contractors. I tried to shove my new life passion back in the box, and pretend it never happened. I went back to life as usual; work my 9-5, go home, do real estate crap, workout, write my blog, repeat. I was completely surprised by the people who told me they spent hours reading my website and eagerly awaited more. After about a year of struggling with what to do, I decided it was time to let the property go. I called my realtor and whined about non-paying tenants and shared horror stories like the time my front yard turned into a CSI crime scene after a neighborhood shooting. She subsequently broke the bad news to me. She told me the market was the worst in history, and that I purchased at an inflated rate that will probably never resurface. There was no way out without damaging my credit and taking a huge loss. I was so heartbroken. I felt like a vulnerable young couple that was passionately in love and now years later grown apart and heading towards divorce. Even though I knew it might be “cheaper to keep her.” I still wanted out of this abusive relationship that drained my mind and my pockets.
I mulled over my dilemma for a few more months before I made a final decision. Ultimately, I couldn’t put a price on my piece of mind. Today, I called the realtor again, and told her “I’m ready to sell.” In my disillusioned past, I was a realtor too. I knew the process, so I sent her all the pictures and wrote my own MLS advertisement the same day. It felt so right, like a burden had been lifted already. I can hardly imagine what life will be like with just one mortgage! I started to come down from my high when I remembered I had class tonight. I was tired and didn’t feel like fighting the rush hour traffic after a long day at work. Why did I sign up for a writing class anyway? My family was probably just being nice saying they enjoyed my blog. I went to class anyway, since I paid for it. As I approached the door to the community college classroom, I had a nervous smile as I felt butterflies in my stomach. Partially because of a high school freshman like fear that I was going into the wrong class and everyone would laugh and point, but mostly because it genuinely felt like I was at the right place. I was able to relinquish the past and boldly embrace my future as a writer.