once again, i don’t know the rules to the dance.
it’s this tug-a-war of our times.
you see, i’m a small-town girl.
my grandparents didn’t live in an age of social media; yet they had a beautifully full life.
they are the people i model my life after.
they put people first:
my grandmother made cookies and put our names on them.
my grandfather would run his wrinkled and shaking hand around your shoulders every time you met, even if he was in the middle of a football game.
i’m a dreamer.
i spent months dreaming about how i wanted to begin this people-first business. peering into each little detail; refining, hoping, imagining.
i thought of all the ways i’d seen and experienced bad property management. i knew my friend’s stories inside out too. i knew i would walk into a storm of bad reputation and be fighting against the current. even fighting against myself some days when i want to lash out.
today is one of those days.
we attempt social media and get our hands slapped.
“pardon me,” i say and shyly slide away. baffled.
but this short-lived dable returns me to my values.
and i can hear him say “let sleeping dogs lie.”
because i’d actually much rather greet your new baby or hear about your failed tomato garden or encourage you that things will get better when you are short on rent, than deal with the rules of social media.
and i’ll keep believing that i’m not the only weirdo who gives as much weight (or more) to someone taking an extra minute with me to answer all my questions than a plethora of social media accounts.
after all, it’s the one-to-one that makes my job not just bearable, but enjoyable. and i truly enjoy each of you as you let me in to your life and undoubtably share in mine.
from the depths,