Last Tuesday I sat down at a table for one at 7:30 p.m. on South Alamo Street. No client calls queued up. No comps pulled on my laptop. Just a menu, a glass of something red, and about 45 minutes I hadn't planned on having.
I don't do this enough. Most of my dinners happen standing at the kitchen counter between emails, or in my car between showings. That's the honest version. And I think a lot of people in real estate (or any job that bleeds into your evenings) would say the same thing if they were being straight about it.
But sitting there, watching the kitchen work, reading the menu slowly instead of scanning it like a contract addendum, something clicked. I wasn't thinking about the market. I wasn't doing mental math on a listing price. I was just eating good food and paying attention to it.
Here's what I've noticed. The agents I respect most, the ones who've been doing this 15, 20 years and still seem sharp, they all have something outside of real estate that they protect. A hobby, a routine, a dinner ritual. Something that doesn't produce a commission check. I used to think that was a luxury. Now I think it's a requirement.
I closed 11 transactions between January and the end of April this year. Every one of them required some version of me being available at odd hours, answering texts at 9 p.m., reviewing inspection reports on a Sunday. I'm not complaining. I chose this. But I'm starting to realize that "always on" isn't a flex. It's a leak.
So I'm trying something small. One weeknight dinner a week where my phone stays in the car. No alerts. No Zillow notifications. Just food and whatever book I'm reading or whatever conversation happens at the bar. It sounds like nothing. It's been harder than I expected.
The food that night was simple. A short rib, roasted carrots, bread that was still warm. Nothing Instagram-worthy. But I remembered every bite, which is more than I can say about most meals I've eaten this year.
If you're in a job that never really turns off, I'd ask you this: when's the last time you tasted your dinner?