Luxury | A Way of Relating

If you know my writing, you know I’m drawn to opening language up—seeing what a word can hold when we loosen it a bit. Luxury is one of those words.

So let’s break it open gently.

Last year, I helped sell a modest fixer in West Asheville for around $400,000. The home had been inherited from a dear friend—someone deeply loved—and for my client, it carried both affection and grief. Structurally, the house showed its age. In practical terms, it bordered on a teardown. That was a truth I needed to hold clearly.

At the same time, the house had been a gathering place for decades—full of artists, friends, late nights, and laughter. It had been a container for a life, and that truth mattered just as much.

My role wasn’t to replace one truth with the other, but to respect both—being honest about the realities of the home while making space for how it lived in her memory. The work required care: slowing the process, staying present, and allowing room for grief alongside clarity.

In the end, we found a buyer who didn’t simply see problems to solve, but possibility—someone who could imagine how the home might evolve without erasing what it had been.

For me, luxury isn’t abstract. It has an intrinsic dimension, too.

I feel it when I’m sitting with a client and holding space—listening without rushing, and allowing people to be fully themselves. I feel it when I’ve guided someone through a thorough due diligence process, when questions are answered and steadiness replaces anxiety. And I feel it when I’m shaping marketing that reflects not just a home’s features, but its light, setting, and story.

Those moments aren’t tied to a price point. I’ve experienced them with first-time buyers and long-time homeowners, across modest and expansive budgets alike. What they share is care, attention, and follow-through.

We live in an increasingly digital world, and I value good technology. Used well, it brings clarity and efficiency. But the work that feels most luxurious to me remains relational—meaningful conversations, details handled thoughtfully, communication that feels steady rather than automated.

Over time, I’ve learned that the strongest client experiences come from holding dualities well: strategy and intuition, responsiveness and patience, professionalism and warmth. When those balances are honored, people feel supported rather than processed.

That understanding is what I recognize in Unique.

What excites me about the collective model is its ability to keep relationships personal while expanding what supports them. You may work directly with me—the person listening, guiding, and advocating—but there is a larger team behind the scenes. Shared insight. Collective experience. A structure designed to deepen care, not dilute it.

What’s visible is personal.
What supports it is collective.

For me, luxury isn’t always about spectacle or scale. It’s about presence, thoughtfulness, and care carried all the way through—no matter the size of the transaction.

That’s the standard I bring to my work, and the opportunity I see in doing it within Unique.