Death of an Economist

Back in Indianapolis I was a Realtor for a few years.

I never misled a client as to what their property was worth. Still every seller I represented insisted their house was worth more than I said it was worth. And every buyer insisted it wasn't worth what the seller was asking.

Maybe they were right. Maybe so was I.

A commodity is worth whatever a buyer will pay. Indiana has an oversupply of houses. The only way value can be established is for someone new to come into the market - a person moving from another State, or a person leaving an existing household to start a household of their own.

A population increase.

But the population of Indiana decreases, reliably, each year. The percentage of Hoosiers willing and able to buy a home decreases even more rapidly than the gen-pop due to brain drain. The basic principals of capitalism therefore dictate that existing, unoccupied houses in Indiana are worthless.

Unless...

Unless there is an emotional connection between a person and a house.

People will pay any price for love.

Hoosiers are romantic. They imagine that when they put their house on the market, someone will come along and fall in love with it. But no Hoosier is stupid enough to fall in love with a house. That would mean they would have to admit to their disapproving relatives and friends that they made an emotional purchase. They would be mocked at Thanksgiving dinner for overpaying. They would be ridiculed when it came time to resell. They would be told, "I told you so."

No one likes to feel like a fool.

That's why the average time on the market for a house for sale in Indianapolis is more than a year.

The reason I continued to go to work every day is because I thought I could be of use. I thought I could teach my clients that the economy works fine. The way to fix Indiana's problems, from pollution to education to gangs to crime to political reform, and to restore the value of its real estate, is to face the fact that Indiana has a declining population, and that every new house means an old house will be abandoned, boarded up, burned, filled with squatters and rats. Every new neighborhood means an old neighborhood will die, along with its businesses, its churches, its soul and the soul of the State.

Oversupply and suburban sprawl, inspired by consumerism and fear, are turning Indiana into a demon.

Hoosiers blame the Mayor, the President, the foreigners and the corporations, but they themselves are the guilty ones, the multitudes fleeing the city and its challenges for the suburbs, eradicating nature to make room for bigger televisions.

In San Francisco, selling real estate is like selling toilet paper. People will pay whatever it costs.

Selling something to someone who needs it is boring.

All of the mechanisms I developed to cope in Indiana are leaving me. They are useless here. Salesmanship. Sarcasm. Intollerance. Anger. I release them into the ether.

Here to help me recreate myself are my new friends:

Spanish Mr. Bubbles!

Inca Giving the Finger!

Giant Pile of Yucca Root!

And Mr. or Mrs. Varmint on My Skylight, who reminds me every morning......I am one of many, all of whose needs are legitimate, all of who call this place home, all of who must be considered for the promise of America to be real.