It Started With a Plan

There was a plan. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. My family warned that I was moving too fast. They didn’t trust my judgement nor my agent’s intentions. And they were right. What goes up must come down. I got started in the South Florida real estate boom at the very beginning of the end. Only most of us, even the most shrewd, didn’t know it at the time.

My portfolio reads something like this: a discharge for bankruptcy, foreclosure on two properties, one house signed over to the second lien holder on a Quit Claim Deed, another condo in limbo with the banks, and my home, my sweet, comfy condo is in foreclosure. Let it never be said that I have not worked my ass off trying to find ways to make this better, but the tide has been stronger than me. I am learning when to muscle through and when to surrender. I have learned that there are no shortcuts, no one is going to do it for me unless there is huge gain for themselves and I have no business playing in a game where I don’t understand the rules. These past 5 years has been the most nerve wrecking, uncertain , informative and laborious ride of crests and valley’s I have yet known.

The journey has also been nearly incredulous. Humorous, at times even. And I can certainly say, “If I only knew then....,” and really mean it. Maybe my accounts will touch someone who is going through something similar and they will feel a little less dispirited. Or possibly someone considering a first-time-home purchase will gain new insight. Some of this stuff might get a little technical and confusing, and that’s the point. It has been technical and confusing. I still don’t understand all of what I am facing and working through. Don’t be intimidated or enchanted by the fast, confident dialogue and multi syllable jargon. Because that is how I was hooked and dragged to my financial ruins. No, I am not deflecting responsibility. I take full responsibility of my naivete and misplaced judgements. And I do so without regret. Much. I do so without much regret. These entries are of a little leaguer having the guts (or ignorance) to step up to the plate for the first time and swing without the T. True, odds are stacked against the Little Sport considering she’s facing the Big Boys and it’s a home game for them. But I always figured, I’ll never know how hard I can hit until I try.

So, where to begin?

Let me start here. Now. 12:53 am, in the comfort of my home, listening to white noise from the freeway in the distance. Counting my blessings for my cozy, (albeit, inflatable) bed, a refrigerator stocked with food, a few dollars in my pocket and a new Apple laptop (on loan until I pay it off from work). I’m not alone as I sit in my “home office.” I’m in the company of Foreclosure and he has hung around for sometime already. He’s like the Grim Reaper, hovering, waiting for the soul of my little nest. But even he can’t spoil the charm or take away the mojo of apartment 105 2E and I won’t give up without a fight. This sweet space can still become Home to a deserving buyer who scoops it up at a steal of a price in Short Sale. My hope, is that someone else can experience the comfort of this 800 square foot box, breathe new life into it - fix up the kitchen, bathrooms and replace the front door. For now, this place is still mine and it has been my refuge through the disappointments of failed relationships, a crash pad from the struggles of single handedly managing 5 investment properties (okay, maybe not single handed, but almost...you’ll see), an artist’s loft through design school, a home office for several attempted businesses, studio space for a budding hula hoop practice (may the skid marks be immortalized on the walls and ceiling) and my sanctuary where I have encountered parts of myself that may not have had the chance to surface anyplace but here.

And here I am, on the precipice again of another foreclosure deadline. I am grateful for the home I have today and excited by the uncertainty of tomorrow.