and the coming soon sign that changed the search…

I met Mike and Emma at an open house across the freeway from where they lived. They were looking, but not urgently. Just…looking.

They had two little ones and a 100-year-old bungalow that was bursting at the seams. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, 1,000 square feet of life spilling into every corner. But when you walked through their home, you didn’t see the lack of space first. You felt the life that lived there.

Guitars on the walls. Magic hour light pouring through the kitchen windows. The cat weaving in and out of the front and back doors like she owned the whole block. It was a home that had been loved into fullness – renovated with care, lived in with intention, known in the way only a first home can be known.

But two kids in 1,000 square feet is one thing. The reality of needing more room was starting to press in.

The Search That Didn’t Fit

We looked for a while. Different neighborhoods, different layouts, homes that checked boxes on paper. But nothing felt right.

It’s hard to name sometimes, that feeling when a house just doesn’t fit. The specs might work. The price might make sense. But something essential is missing, and you can’t force it into place.

So we paused.

Not because they gave up. But because pushing forward into something that didn’t feel right wasn’t going to solve the real problem. Sometimes the most important move is to stop moving and get clear on what you’re actually looking for.

When Life Clarifies the Question

During the pause, they got pregnant with their third.

Suddenly, the question wasn’t theoretical anymore. It wasn’t “we should probably get more space eventually.” It was “we need more space, and we need it to feel like home.”

And that’s when the real pain point surfaced: they didn’t want to leave their neighborhood.

All those open houses across the freeway, all those listings in adjacent areas, they were searching for something they already had. They loved where they were. They loved their street, their neighbors, the rhythm of their days. The problem wasn’t the neighborhood. It was the size of the house.

So the strategy shifted. We stopped looking everywhere else and started searching in their own neighborhood. Around the corners. Down the street. Off market possibilities and watchful if the right opportunity to show up where they already belonged.

The House They’d Always Loved

A week later, a “coming soon” sign went up.

Not just any house. The house. The one they’d walked past countless times. The favorite on the block.

When you’ve lived in a neighborhood long enough, you know which houses hold something special. You notice the front porch, the trees, the way it sits on the lot. You imagine, just for a moment, what it would feel like to unlock that door instead of yours.

This was that house. And it was about to hit the market.

We moved quickly and reached out to the agent. We stayed in touch during their pre-market work. And then, “Active.” Multiple offers came in, and the terms needed to be strong. We made sure ours were.

But here’s what I believe made the difference: their story.

The sellers weren’t just choosing the highest number or the cleanest contract. They were choosing who would live in the home they were leaving behind. They had raised their three girls there, renovated thoughtfully and were equally feeling the ache of leaving a neighborhood they loved. When they heard about Mike and Emma – the young family down the street, the couple who’d poured love into their own bungalow, the parents about to welcome their third child and desperate to stay in the neighborhood they cherished – it meant something.

The house became theirs.

The Bungalow That Made It Possible

Now they had the home they wanted. But they also had the home they needed to sell.

That sweet 1,000-square-foot bungalow, the one with the guitars and the magic hour light and the cat who owned the block, it needed to show well. Not because it wasn’t special, but because buyers needed to be able to see past the fullness of their life and into the possibility of their own.

We made some premarket repairs. We paired down their furniture and staged it in a way that honored the bones of the home while giving buyers room to imagine. And through our listing strategy and marketing, we created the same kind of momentum they’d just experienced as buyers: multiple offers, strong terms, a 30-day close.

It worked because the home deserved it. And because timing, clarity, and communication won the day – on both sides of the transaction.

What the Wait Was For

Looking back, the pause wasn’t a delay. It was preparation.

If they’d forced a decision earlier, they might have ended up in a neighborhood that felt wrong, in a home that didn’t fit, solving the space problem but creating a new one. The wait gave them time to get clear. And the clarity gave them focus.

When the right opportunity came – the favorite house on the block, the one they’d loved from the outside for years – they were ready. Not just financially, but emotionally. They knew what they wanted, and they knew why it mattered.

And when it came time to let go of their bungalow, they did it with the same intention. They’d made that house into a home. Now someone else would get the chance to do the same.

The Green Light You’ve Been Waiting For

Some seasons feel like waiting. Like everything is on pause and nothing is moving forward and maybe it’s just not the right time.

But sometimes the waiting isn’t empty. It’s the season where you figure out what you actually need. Where you stop looking everywhere and start looking in the right place. Where you learn that the answer isn’t always “find something new” – sometimes it’s “stay where you belong and create a strategy for the right door to open.”

For Mike and Emma, the green light came. And when it did, everything moved – quickly, clearly, in alignment with what mattered most.

They didn’t leave their neighborhood. They just moved around the corner. Into the house they’d always loved, with the space they’d always needed, in the place they’d always belonged.

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Home matters. And sometimes, getting there means learning to wait for the right door—not just any door—to open.