I’m a competitive person. I like to win.

Basketball, ping pong, negotiating an offer, bowling, trying to get a listing, blogging… it really doesn’t matter the contest. If I’m playing, I’m playing to win.

Relocations have become the bane of my existence. I keep getting whooped. Especially working with sellers who have already left town.


I’ll never forget a pristine, one year old home in Nolan Hill. 

My client, a down to earth, practical, food loving man, was tearing up. Offering another man a hug in a vacant home isn’t part of the service I provide, but I considered it for second.

He and his wife had carefully selected upgrades, made some pricey modifications, and enjoyed every minute of designing exactly home they wanted.

Now, the company was sending him to Texas, where he had family nearby. They were excited about moving. The house was the only thing tying them to Calgary.

Eight times, while we walked through the empty the rooms for the last time, he said ‘I love my house’. At times it was loud and blatant, other times under his breathe while shaking his head.

I’m not competitive for myself as much as I’m competitive for the people I represent. The people whose lives have changed. Who are starting over again, quickly, in a new city. Their old house is that last physical thing holding them back from setting down roots in their new city. They’re the ones that could really use a great win.

But as much as I want to win, the house NEEDS to sell. In a less than hot market, NEED is a full court press we can’t casually dribble out of.

Price becomes the motivator when buyers are taking their time exploring all the homes out there, and the options are pretty good right now.

The last two relocations I’ve sold have been for well under the market value. We gave away that house in Nolan Hill. It was my turn to shake my head when I handed over the keys.

This week the same thing happened again. My heart dropped when I saw the early morning text from Texas saying, ‘Okay, we’ll take the offer. I just want to sell the fucking house.’

I didn’t lose, I suppose. The house sold, and that’s my job.


My best friend coaches a college basketball team.

His face gets squishy with irritation talking about how hard it is to win in Lethbridge. ‘The refs are always against you so you’re already done 15 points before the game starts.’

That’s how I feel right now about relocations. There’s already a deficit. We’ll still play hard, still execute our strategy. But the odds of a win are not in our favour.


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