As I dart around town, I usually pass right by falafel stands because either: 1) it’s the wrong time of day for falafel; 2) I already ate lunch at RL; 3) I may have vowed that particular week to give up anything deep-fried (for a week); 4) I’m struggling conceptually with the falafel “wrap” movement; 5) I already had dinner at RL; or 6) I recognize that the tahini dressing invariably navigates down the sandwich - between the balls and veggies - and drips through the pita onto my shirt, pants, and often the seat of my car.
But ladies and gentlemen - and those who don’t identify with any gender, I’m happy to finally share with all of you that I will never deny myself a falafel sandwich again. Ever.
And I’m not entirely sure why it took me this long to figure this out.
I love falafel. I really love falafel. It makes me so happy.
So why, exactly, have I been denying myself something I enjoy? Because it’s fried, messy, occasionally inconvenient, and capable of ruining a perfectly good (Prada) shirt?
Who the hell made these anti-falafel rules - and why was I following them so religiously?
My buyers often do essentially the same thing.
They find a house they love. I mean, they really love it.
And then… they start talking themselves out of it.
The kitchen is a bit too small. The backyard doesn't have a firepit. The primary bathroom lacks heated floors. The 4th bedroom is not ensuite when a 4th bedroom was not even on their wishlist. The kitchen has no pot filler, and frankly, all they do is order in Chinese.
And suddenly the house they loved 20 minutes ago is being evaluated like a municipal bond.
I've always believed that buying a home should involve a healthy amount of rational thinking. You need to look at the numbers. You need to understand the condition of the property. You need to consider the location, the taxes, and its potential resale value.
But at some point, you also have to acknowledge how the house makes you feel.
Because if you walk into a home and immediately start imagining your furniture in its proper place, the holiday gatherings you're going to host, generations of family stopping by, the perfect spots where you’re going to put your kids in time out, and which nook would be best for your Peloton bike even though you haven't used it since the pandemic ... that's worth something too.
Maybe the house isn't perfect.
But neither is falafel. Buy the house.
Have a great weekend!
Best,
Brad
