Sometimes good ideas get forced out of hard work. Other times they sneak up all vague. In this case, a good idea emerged because of something Ellie said.
And it helped me win a modest bidding war.
Dear Linda,
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No more jinxing: the view from my pending balcony.
|
It’s difficult knowing if this letter might help my
cause as a buyer, but—as soon as I heard another offer was on the
table—my daughter reminded me that there are a lot of good people in
Portland.
To her, it was a good enough reason for all of this to work out, Dad.
What a great thing to hear after tossing and turning all night.
“Wait,” she said by text. “This is where you write a letter to make your case, right?”
What?
“Let the seller know how much you belong there.”
So, here’s my awkward plea: without equivocation, I really (really) want to buy your place. Yes, yes. Say yes.
I’m just a regular, middle-class guy hoping to be a downtown dweller for good. I follow rules, I tip every time, I ride my bike, I try to work hard, I should read more books, and I’ve become pretty good at living in the moment because of life’s random vagaries.
I’m not a military veteran, but I’ve never had any run-ins with the law either. I’m easy going. I don’t smoke, don’t judge those who do, and rarely swear unless it’s going to make someone laugh. I watch over my Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother on weekends.
In sum, I’m very fortunate in life.
Why do I love downtown so much—and the South Downtown neighborhood, in particular? Its pulse. A sense of place. I love to look out my window and know exactly where I am. I’m also moved by the 60-block history of what was once called South Portland: settled by Italian Catholics and Russian Jews, swaths of homes and six synagogues were razed for the best of urban-renewal intentions.
I don’t see the Portland Center Apartments or what's now known as Harrison West as just a place to live. Between 1966 and 1986, my father worked in the building overlooking the Keller Fountain; the thought of peering north and seeing where Dad spent most of his career providing for six kids and Mom seems poetic.
I grew up in Cedar Mill, graduated from U of O. I’m a father of a wonderful daughter who graduated from Lincoln High and OSU, is now on her way in the world, and—incidentally—lives only a 10-minute walk away under the OHSU Sky Tram.
On a more relevant note, I found your li’l piece of heaven at the heels of another offer that went south through no fault of my own. I'm qualified. I'm ready. I can move fast. I can close when you want.
Meantime, I'm not about to diminish your interests as a seller. I know what the market is doing—and I may be naïve with this letter—but I simply want to give you a sense of the person behind the offer: someone ready to further his roots.
Thank you for your consideration. I wish you the very best.
Sincerely,
To her, it was a good enough reason for all of this to work out, Dad.
What a great thing to hear after tossing and turning all night.
“Wait,” she said by text. “This is where you write a letter to make your case, right?”
What?
“Let the seller know how much you belong there.”
So, here’s my awkward plea: without equivocation, I really (really) want to buy your place. Yes, yes. Say yes.
I’m just a regular, middle-class guy hoping to be a downtown dweller for good. I follow rules, I tip every time, I ride my bike, I try to work hard, I should read more books, and I’ve become pretty good at living in the moment because of life’s random vagaries.
I’m not a military veteran, but I’ve never had any run-ins with the law either. I’m easy going. I don’t smoke, don’t judge those who do, and rarely swear unless it’s going to make someone laugh. I watch over my Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother on weekends.
In sum, I’m very fortunate in life.
Why do I love downtown so much—and the South Downtown neighborhood, in particular? Its pulse. A sense of place. I love to look out my window and know exactly where I am. I’m also moved by the 60-block history of what was once called South Portland: settled by Italian Catholics and Russian Jews, swaths of homes and six synagogues were razed for the best of urban-renewal intentions.
I don’t see the Portland Center Apartments or what's now known as Harrison West as just a place to live. Between 1966 and 1986, my father worked in the building overlooking the Keller Fountain; the thought of peering north and seeing where Dad spent most of his career providing for six kids and Mom seems poetic.
I grew up in Cedar Mill, graduated from U of O. I’m a father of a wonderful daughter who graduated from Lincoln High and OSU, is now on her way in the world, and—incidentally—lives only a 10-minute walk away under the OHSU Sky Tram.
On a more relevant note, I found your li’l piece of heaven at the heels of another offer that went south through no fault of my own. I'm qualified. I'm ready. I can move fast. I can close when you want.
Meantime, I'm not about to diminish your interests as a seller. I know what the market is doing—and I may be naïve with this letter—but I simply want to give you a sense of the person behind the offer: someone ready to further his roots.
Thank you for your consideration. I wish you the very best.
Sincerely,
Dan
