realonomics

The monsoon rain falls each afternoon on the Mogollon Rim of Eastern Arizona. Molly Butler’s is the oldest lodge in Arizona and sits at 8,400 feet elevation in a small village called Greer; population a few dozen people. Using Molly’s pay phone, one of three or four in the area, has been a twenty-year tradition for me (no, my cell can’t catch a beam and while there I am grateful for that).

Concluding a check of my voice mail, I return to my vehicle in front of Molly’s to wait for family members to join me for the ride to the cabin. While sitting, I find myself musing upon the real estate industry. It’s a quiet afternoon, calm and tranquil. A delicate rain starts dripping down upon my situation. The mountain air is pleasantly washed and I crack the window to allow the aroma to waft about me.

Old Wipers Flappin’ Time

My second nature causes me reach for a lever in order to gain clarity of vision and my windshield wipers began to flap time; their sound seems like a feeble attempt to synchronize with the drum beat of the natural rain drops. A rhythmic melody is created and the new rain cannot intertwine with the sound of the mechanical blades. Within moments, the rain increases in its intensity, its noise rising like a crescendo. The peacefulness of the moment is suddenly drowned out by a deluge of water accompanied by thunder claps; my contemplations are immediately brought to a halt. Huge drops of rain hammer down until I cannot see ahead, my visibility is now obscured, my mind momentarily confused.

I sit, waiting for the rain and the noise to subside. Within a few moments I found myself missing my focus and craving a return to my former clarity. Finally, the force begins to subside and I find myself relieved of the nervousness of the situation. Strangely, I began thinking of this entire event in terms of what the real estate industry is encountering. Introspection comes forth and I see something about me, us, our industry.

The New Rain Falls on Everyone

Especially poignant is the hard rain we are going through that seemingly cannot be abated. As it pounds us our vision is obscured and we are tempted to simply sit still while pretending to be safe. After all, we lack definitive clarity…we can’t see!

What began as small droplets falling on our magnificent markets has suddenly turned into what seems like a mountain deluge with flash flood implications. The clapping sounds of the thunders of foreclosure seem much too close for comfort.

Our mechanical wiper blades can no longer keep pace with this new Niagara of moisture. Our blades are the remnants of the bygone era and they cannot be synchronized with the heavy droplets now falling on our old parade. Try as we may, we cannot control the necessary burst that must come. This drenching will relieve the tired clouds of their weight until they become light and wispy allowing blue sky to break through and become the norm again.

This is the necessary new rain of change. How is your vision doing?

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