When I was a young girl my parents were entrepreneurs. My father owned a kitchen and bathroom remodeling business that evolved into commercial bath tub resurfacing. My mom, although she worked for a bank, a repo company, and ultimately landed in mental health, knew the flexibility to be a mom that came only from being self-employed; hence she started a cleaning business and a daycare when we were young.
However, my parents, running two businesses out of the home, tried to offer a professional appearance to which I ultimately sabotaged through pure childish innocence. To this day I have not lived down the time my mother was on the phone with a client; I was two and had to poop. Apparently, let her and whoever was on the other end know about it. We do not know who that was as they lost that job. -_-
It was 1982ish. I am riding shotgun beside my dad, tears streaming down my face as I trace the raindrops with my fingers down the passenger window. My feet barely over the edge of the seat, I rub the shiny, Patton leather on my feet together listening for the faint squeak that I somehow find…maybe comforting maybe just amusing.
“Chitty Chat” my dad smiles at me “Why don’t you try counting the raindrops?”
Sounding much like a frog I squeak out “ooooonnnneee.” Dad can’t hold back a huge belly laugh and I follow suit.
I was on my way to kindergarten and I was crying because I hated it. What I did not realize was that in actuality, I was disappointed. I thought I would walk into school and it would be all magical and fun like school on tv. Guess what? It’s not.
Somewhere around 1987 this happened again, except this time I wasn’t ACTUALLY crying. I was again disappointed by the fact that middle school was not like the experience the girls in my favorite book series were having. BTW it was The Babysitters Club… Those 12-year olds were making bank. I was super jelly.
Fast-forward to being an adult(ish). I was 21 and decided to be a real estate investor. I expected to be holding and flipping houses right out the cage….Guess what? Nope. It was, is, a journey. Life is a continuous journey. The journey to being a successful real estate investor has different details but the path is pretty much the same. We all have to go through the different growth periods, experience the same growing pains, to end up in the same place.How long it takes depends on each of us, but the process is the same.
I was born an entrepreneur. I am pretty certain that I was peddling passies in the hospital when the nurses left the room.All of the other kids in the neighborhood were riding bikes and playing with dolls I was selling jewelry out of a catalogue and creating a back yard consignment shop. At 21 I became a real estate investor and fell in love. This was/is/ and always will be my passion. I have been madly in love with flipping, holding, and writing offers on real estate that seem crazy for 18 years. Ladies and gents I am willing to share the love of my life with you. Maybe its polyamory maybe its jut because I can’t shut up about it. Either way I will be sharing every mistake I ever made and the lesson that came from it. I love questions. Please ask away!!!