My friend came to town tonight to visit NYC from California.  After our lovely late meal of cheese and wine with our other friend at Cafe Lalo on 83rd Street, we all proceeded down Central Park West on an impromptu sightseeing excursion.  I found myself not only pointing out the sights and different details about things like the Natural History Museum, Central Park, The San Remo and The Dakota, but knowing more details than I thought.  While describing different lifestyles and layouts of buildings, my friend told me I felt like her “broker” taking her around to different apartments, well versed in the Upper West Side neighborhood knowledge and culture.  I laughed and then shuddered as I realized that I POSESS  the skills of being a broker/realtor.  Which is the career that BOTH of my parents had/still have.  Ugh.  The field that has been part of my life since I was old enough to leave the house in a car seat and attend open houses.  The field that follows and haunts me still as I see and feel the stress my father is still under being a part of.  The field that I’ve watched so many family members struggle through for so long that fluctuates along with the economy.  The only consistent thing about this career is the inconsistency.  The last career option on Earth that I have no desire to select I am gifted at.  And although I chuckled to my friends out loud, mildly feigning embarrassment, inside I was a little proud of myself.  Proud of the talents that I inherited from my mother and father.  And proud of the fact that I know special tidbits about My New York.