I don't think America's favorite pastime is baseball.
I think it's sitting on the back porch with a cup of coffee discussing what you're going to do to your house "one day."
Not today.
Not next month.
Certainly not while college tuition is due, the HVAC is making a weird noise, and someone's car needs tires.
But one day.
My husband and I are highly skilled at this game.
We're practically professionals.
We've been playing it for years.
The current version involves a pool.
Not just any pool. A beautiful pool. The kind that appears in luxury magazines where nobody seems to own pool toys, dogs, or children. The water is perfectly still. There are tasteful lounge chairs. A fire feature. Maybe some limestone. Definitely some dramatic lighting.
In our version, we sit on the porch and discuss it as though construction crews are merely awaiting our call.
"We could put it over there."
"No, we'd need to rotate it."
"What about a hot tub?"
"What if we did a sun shelf?"
And for a glorious twenty minutes, we are pool owners.
Then somebody remembers what pools cost.
The game ends.
Until next weekend.
The funny thing
The funny thing is that I think we both know we're probably never building that pool.
Not because we don't want one.
We absolutely want one.
But because there will always be something else competing for time, money, attention, or common sense.
And yet we keep talking about it.
I don't think we're alone.
In fact, I think nearly every homeowner in America plays some version of this game.
One day we'll renovate the kitchen.
One day we'll finish the basement.
One day we'll add a porch.
One day we'll build a detached garage.
One day we'll finally replace that bathroom that has looked exactly the same since George W. Bush was president.
The plans change. The projects change.
The dreaming never does.
Buyers play the game too
As a Realtor, I see another version of the game all the time.
A buyer walks into a home and within thirty seconds begins redesigning it.
"Oh, I'd tear this wall out."
"The first thing I'd do is change that flooring."
"Why on earth did they choose this tile?"
"I'd completely redo this bathroom."
My personal favorite is standing on a deck overlooking absolutely nothing and hearing someone ask:
"Why would they build a deck here?"
I don't know.
Maybe they liked decks.
Maybe they were optimistic.
Maybe twenty years ago there was a view.
Maybe they got a quote for something else and the deck was all they could afford.
Or maybe they were playing the exact same game we're playing now.
Every strange design choice has a story
The truth is that every strange design choice has a story.
Somebody picked that wallpaper.
Somebody loved that tile.
Somebody thought the faux-Tuscan kitchen was the height of sophistication.
Somebody spent real money on that dolphin-themed bathroom.
We laugh now, but they probably loved it.
At least for a little while.
"If I owned this house…"
Buyers play another version of the game that fascinates me.
"If I owned this house, here's what I'd do."
The interesting part is that I often know they're not buying the house.
Sometimes the location isn't right.
Sometimes the budget isn't right.
Sometimes they already know before they walk in the door.
But they still have to play.
They still have to imagine.
They still have to mentally move the walls, paint the cabinets, replace the countertops, and install a pool in the backyard.
Maybe that's part of how humans decide things.
Maybe we need to temporarily make something ours before we can determine whether it actually should be.
Then life happens
Then something funny happens.
Occasionally those buyers buy the house.
They move in.
They unpack.
Life begins.
And most of the things they talked about never happen.
The wall stays exactly where it is.
The kitchen survives another decade.
The bathroom remains aggressively beige.
The deck overlooking nothing continues overlooking nothing.
The years pass.
Kids grow up.
Dogs get older.
Jobs change.
Life gets busy.
And eventually I get a call.
"We've decided it's time to sell."
I walk back through the house.
The same house where they once enthusiastically described all the changes they were going to make.
And most of those changes never happened.
Not because they were lazy.
Not because they forgot.
Because life happened.
And honestly, I think that's okay.
Houses aren't finished products
The longer I do this job, the more I realize houses aren't really finished products.
They're just temporary chapters.
Each owner leaves behind a few decisions, a few dreams, and a few unfinished ideas for the next person to inherit.
The next buyers will walk through.
They'll look around.
They'll question the tile choices.
They'll discuss moving walls.
They'll explain exactly where they would put a pool.
And the cycle will continue.
Maybe that's the point
Maybe that's what homes are really for.
Not perfection.
Possibility.
A place where people can imagine a slightly better version of their lives.
A place where they can dream about what comes next.
A place where they can sit on the porch on a Saturday morning with a cup of coffee and discuss all the things they're going to do one day.
Even if they never do a single one of them.
Especially if they never do.
Because sometimes the dreaming was the point all along.
