The Sale I Didn’t Make
Harping back to apprentices, this series started, oddly enough, with a science fiction novel. In Peter F. Hamilton’s Void Trilogy, a young man learns his craft the old-fashioned way - inside a world that quietly mirrors the medieval guild system. He begins as an apprentice. He shows up every day. He learns from a master who has already mastered the trade. He makes mistakes, gets corrected, and slowly gets better.
No lectures. No shortcuts. No pieces of paper that say he’s qualified. Just hands-on work, real accountability, and proving himself through results.
That story took me straight back to my real estate days.
Yes, I had the licence. That got me in the door. But what actually taught me the job was learning from a master - watching how he listened, how he read people, how he put the client’s real needs ahead of the quick commission.
I was, like the hero in the book, learning my craft.
Whether it be crafting creations in a future universe or our current life, things still remain much the same: we must learn from the Masters.
One listing in particular has stayed with me for decades. A waterfront property. The kind agents dream about - big commission, easy sell. The owner was an older lady living with her dog who was nearly blind, slowing down, but clearly her closest companion. She believed she had to sell and move into a retirement home. Which, quietly, meant the dog would have to be put down.
I sat there doing the sums: commission. Stamp duty. Legal fees. The upheaval. The loss.
Then I did the thing that made no sense on paper. I suggested she stay. Keep the house. Keep the dog. Use some of the money she would have spent on moving to pay for help around the place instead.
She looked at me for a long moment… and said, “Yes. That’s what I’ll do.”
I went back to the office and told my boss I’d just talked myself out of a very nice listing. He didn’t get angry. He shook my hand and said, “Congratulations. You’ve been listening.”
Over the years, that decision came back around many times. Her family. Her neighbours. They called me when it was time to sell - not because I was the slickest or loudest operator, but because they trusted me.
Funny thing is, that’s the same quiet lesson sitting inside the sci-fi story. The ones who truly master something aren’t chasing the quick win or the impressive credential. They’re the ones who learn properly - from a master, through doing the work, through showing up consistently, and doing the right thing even when it costs them in the moment.
That old guild way - apprentice, journeyman, master - built real competence for centuries. You started young, lived modestly (often still at home), learned by doing, and only moved forward when you could prove your work held up.
Our Paddy said it perfectly: no trade, no university - just the will to succeed, the willingness to work hard, do a good job, and treat customers properly. He reckoned he could build a business cleaning wheelie bins if he simply showed up and did it right. Same principle.
Whether you’re shaping psychic creatures in a sci fi novel, selling real estate, or pressure-washing bins… the path that lasts is the one built on doing, not signalling.
We’ve spent decades pushing “college or bust” and fast-track careers. Maybe it’s time we remembered the older, slower, more reliable route:
Find a master. Learn the craft properly. Serve people honestly. And let trust and reputation do the rest.
Sometimes the best sale you ever make… is the one you deliberately don’t.
When, oh when, will our politicians realise that? We want honesty. Integrity. Decency. Truth. Or is it because their real boss actually approves? Anything for “the sale”?
Yet today, people in power seem to think that wisdom and old age are worthless..
Ultimately, it does come down to the teacher, doesn’t it? The person in charge. The parent. The classroom teacher. The person at the helm.
Let our apprentices learn their crafts from master craftsmen. Let our children learn how to be good people. And please, let them learn from people who are truly worthy of the title “teacher.” Because the old craftsmen were ultimately teachers, weren’t they?
Funny how the same picture can look different...
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