When you first meet Mary, you are confronted with contradictions. It starts with her eyes: serene yet intense, piercing yet comforting, a shade I would describe as "stained-glass blue."
She is possessed of a certain intensity of character too, nestled in a shell of spiritual reassurance, as though the world does not touch her because some greater power protects her from within.
She is a multi-disciplined member of the real estate community. As if helping people through one of the most stressful decisions in life wasn’t enough of an outlet, Mary’s greater purpose (one of them, anyway) is finding homes for people who are closer to the end of their lives than the beginning, and helping their family-members navigate these moments of compounded concern. It’s called being a “senior real estate specialist.”
Where the family might see an urgent need to decide and act RIGHT NOW, Mary sees options. Where they feel constrained, she cultivates flexibility. In short, she has coupled her natural compassion with an equally formidable capacity for offering unbiased support to people in their times of greatest need.
"I live for a life of service, it turns out," she says without a shade of self-effacement, but also without pride. She merely speaks her truth as it was revealed to her in the same way that each day is revealed to all of us:
As if by providence, by a hand that doesn't need to be seen to be trusted.
What built this strength? What powers this sense of purpose? Was it taught, or was it innate?
Is it something to be admired or even envied? Or was its road too rough to look upon with longing, as one might upon a swift and simple task?
Perhaps it is only when one is tested that one can be validated. And the same may be true of one’s faith.
I wanted to find out, to understand the force at work behind those eyes.
Mary Dougherty was born in Bogota, New Jersey, (and if you're not sure where that is, just think Hackensack, Teaneck, Teterboro...in other words, Jersey's heartland), in "the 1960s," which, as an answer, is good enough for me.
There came a time when her family relocated to Arizona. Mary was in her 20s. She loved New Jersey so much, she stayed in Bergen County to enter the restaurant business. It was the 1980s.
This was not just a professional decision, or motivated by vanity or "just because." Nor was there a wedge between her and her family. Not at all. Rather, Mary and her loved ones were grieving their mother, Kathy, who passed away in 1986. I didn't ask Mary what Kathy died of, but if I do some basic arithmetic, I can deduce that her death was premature.
Knowing what it's like to lose a parent in my 20s, I can immediately, if incompletely, imagine the reckoning that followed, the impulse to both fixate on the loss and to ignore it as one would bad weather. But this is rarely an option amid the unexpected and unseen influences it imposes on one's life, whether or not one wants them, whether or not one consents.
And much like myself, Mary did not fully consent (who could?). But it furthered her pursuit in search of herself; it led her to Morristown, where she would find her home on many levels: personally, professionally, and spiritually.
“Godsidence”
Throughout her thirty years in real estate, Mary's main specializations include another rare and prestigious post in addition to senior real estate specialist.
As a "certified relocation professional," Mary's depth of assistance extends to those times in our lives when we must uproot ourselves and our families to pursue opportunity elsewhere.
There are so many steps to such a move that one might just say, "you know what? Never mind" to a promotion, to a new job, to an adventure, simply because of "logistics."
Mary takes these emotional hazards and turns them into sober, clear-minded decisions. If the choice is clear—to face the unfamiliar—she makes the process as painless as possible, organizing all of the logistical nightmares of a large-scale geographic move.
It's the kind of uprooting that can feel coerced or imposed, yet opportunity lies in that compliance, and Mary wants everyone to have the guidance that she had....
But not long enough.
"Losing my mother required me to completely reinvent myself," she says. “For about three years, I was really lost. Really lost. And I moved up here. People were just so warm and welcoming and engaging.”
And warmth wasn’t the only thing she found in Morristown. Her start in real estate was not far off.
She had been working as an administrative assistant at a communications company, but it was the early 90s, a time of the “quality inch” and a fluctuating work landscape. Through no fault of her own, she got laid off.
All of a sudden, Mary was unemployed. Panic! Or not...!
Mary needed a job. By unique coincidence—Mary calls it a “godsidence,” actually—her friend knew the owner of a real estate company. This company needed a receptionist.
And almost overnight, she was working at the REI office. Her foot was in the door.
As sure as necessity can create opportunity, “somebody was watching out for me,” she explains.
I ask her, how many years was it before you became an agent?
“Three months,” she corrects. “The owner suggested I get my real estate licence.”
Necessity drew Mary to relocation and eldercare, specifically. It was 1995; time to get married. Stability was required. “The real estate market was a little rocky back then. I really needed a salary rather than a commission-based income.” So she took the job with a relocation company.
It was a natural progression, being that she had relocated in her life. It was time to help others find their Morristown, so to speak.
And it paid off. In 2000, Mary was recruited by an international relocation company, FGIWorld. The next fifteen years were full of traveling, designing, cross-cultural training, multicultural team-building, and helping expatriates find their new homes in their host locations. And did I mention traveling?
It’s a very rare specialization among real estate agents. It sounds almost glamorous.
“It was spectacular. I went to so many places. London, Puerto Rico, Latin America.”
Like so many things, this came to an end, or at least an indefinite pause, with the travel ban. No, not that one. The one in 2008, when the markets crashed. “That was the end of that,” she says with a laugh, regretless.
Onward.
Vinny from Bogota and The Fonz
For a service-oriented person....that’s such an anodyne way of saying, a giver, a helper, someone who cares...my question is always, what made you that way?
“I’ve always reached out to somebody that’s different, somebody in need. Let me tell you about Vinny from Bogota.”
(Could’ve been Colombia, but that’s Bogota, NJ). Tell me.
“Vinny had some intellectual difficulties," she explains. They lived close to each other. "People threw snowballs at him when he got off the schoolbus. I didn’t like that. So one day I started walking home with him so they'd stop. And they did stop. People didn’t throw snow at me back then.”
And I doubt they would now, either.
“Vinny was a really neat guy. His parents invited me to his birthday party, which was a Fonzie-themed party. Shows how long ago this was. Later on, he was a big part the community. After I left Bogota I found out he won the Bogota Citizens Award.”
She pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on whether her kind actions had contributed to Vinny’s ability to do good in the world. Then she adds, “he just passed away recently.”
So being someone who cares goes way back. Back to the days of Fonzie birthdays.
The Extroverted Empath
First a communications administrator, then a receptionist, then a real estate agent with two nifty specialties. All jobs that involve people, in large part. Does it take an extroverted personality to excel in these fields and find this niche?
“I’m very much an extrovert. Maybe that helps me see people and things more. What started me in real estate was when one person I knew said, ‘Hey, my friend needs a receptionist.’ And I got hired. And then doors kept opening for me. I feel like those opportunities are there for everybody. And I get to help other people see them! I’ve been extremely blessed.”
All of this to say that Mary’s blessings aren’t in the form of material things, but in an abundance of spirit. I ask what gives her the ability to see such opportunities, such possibilities. “My faith,” she says. “After my mother’s death, I was really lost for three years. And I moved up here. My faith carried me through the trauma of losing her, which was very sudden. She was very young.”
For once, my math was right.
“And it still carries me. I feel that I can reach out to somebody and help them, and I will be okay.”
This is starting to sound like the life of an empath. For many of us, (guilty as charged), we’re never good enough. Walking in other people’s shoes wears our feet out. The weight of the world never gets any lighter. And other such metaphors.
Maybe because I’ve had trouble setting boundaries, I wonder if Mary has ever been nicked by the double-edged sword of caring.
She thinks of herself as an empathic person, and she used to be one “to a fault,” sometimes crying on others’ behalf. “I used to do it for everybody and then I realized that I wasn’t getting the fill-up that I needed. But I’m not there anymore.”
What changed? “I learned that I can’t be there for somebody else if I’m not taking care of myself first. And there are suggestions you can make but you can’t do it for them. You can show them how to do it and then let them be responsible for their own journey.”
So this is the boundary: don’t do it for them, don’t feel it for them. Show them. Like the old adage that says “teach a person to fish.”
But what about when a person just wants to “vent”?
“That’s okay. I’ll listen.” She repeats this a few times. “I’ll listen. And I’ll listen. And if there comes a time where it’s the same venting and nothing’s changed, then they have a choice to make.”
As do you, I say. Right? Mary has a choice too, whether to tell this person that she can’t give anymore, and now they’re on their own. So what does she do when she’s reached the end of the tether?
“I don’t know; I’ve never really been there.”
mind blown
Just then, Chris Christie walks past Mary’s car. She says, “Hi Chris!” And I hear a familiar voice say, “Hey Mary!”
mind-blown again
A Long Successful Life on One Floor
On a certain level, being a “senior real estate specialist” seems self-explanatory: find homes for folks over a certain age. But it’s not just the elder she helps; it’s the elder’s family.
The moment often comes when something changes in the life of a parent or grandparent: an injury, a new diagnosis, a thicker pair of glasses, or just a birthday ending in a 5 or a 0.
The kids or the grandkids suddenly perceive a source of danger in the parent’s life. Out of an abundance of caution, the decision is made to place this older loved one in a safer environment.
But what does this usually mean? A nursing home, a “retirement community,” some version of assisted living.
Now assisted living can be just what the doctor ordered (figuratively). And it can be a blessing unto itself.
But in many cases—and Mary has seen too many—it represents a reaction to a crisis, perhaps even an extreme reaction, that would see one’s living descendants placed in a clinical space filled with strangers, often far away from relatives, and oozing a sense of pathology, strangeness, finality....real “endgame” vibes.
Assisted living is like any other solution: when it’s not the right one, it’s not a solution.
Mary works on finding alternate options in those challenging, tense moments of, “what are we going to do? We have to do something!”
“There’s a whole journey between downsizing from the home you raised your children in and a nursing home. A lot of family-members might say, ‘Our parents are getting old. They can’t drive anymore. They could get hurt. And now we need to sell their house and put them in a nursing home.’”
See how easily this decision could become emotionally driven? It’s only natural. Love can make us scared. “But,” Mary says, “they might not necessarily need that yet.”
“I help mom and dad stay independent in the decision as to when and where to go in the event they need to get away from a house where they’re going up and down thirteen steps multiple times a day.”
Thirteen steps? Oddly specific. That’s because it’s true.
“I knew a beautiful sister, Sister Marie from Assumption Parish. I think she was 79 or so. She went to the doctor and it turned out her eyesight was compromised. The doctor said, ‘It’s too dangerous for you to go up thirteen steps to bed and down thirteen steps to do the laundry.’”
So the nursing home question was raised. “A lot of times, parents feel like they’ve lost their independence because the kids are pushing them into what they think is necessary when there’s really a ton of other options.”
So what happened to Sister Marie?
“Her caregivers and I said, 'maybe she doesn’t need a nursing home. Maybe she just needs to live on one floor.' So we sold her three-floor unit and I put her in a one-floor townhouse. She just died recently, aged 94. But she lived a long, successful life on one floor.”
Independent until the end. And it’s not always easy. Mary works with elder care attorneys, financial advisors, home renovators, and other specialists to make sure these solutions are viable. But the goal is always the same: “to help make sure our seniors can sustain a beautiful life until they actually need additional help.”
What Motivates Mary; What Mary Motivates
Mary Dougherty—extrovert, empath, service-oriented—is someone for whom profession and proficiencies overlap. But my last question is the same as it is for every high-achieving yet humble, emotional yet down-to-earth person I’ve interviewed:
What Motivates You?
“You know,” she begins, “there’s a lot of people in business for just the money, or just the job.” She backs up. “Excuse me; I’m sure there are a ton of people like me, too, whose motivation is really to service my clients, to make sure that their needs are met.”
But what about Mary’s needs?
“I know from my faith and from my experience that, at the end of the day, Mary’s completely taken care of. My motivator is doing the next right thing, helping that next person, and the rest of it just kind of falls into place.”
A sense of place. Perhaps it’s not tied to geography, but to biography, to self, to purpose. May we all find it.
Until then, Mary will find us a good start: home.
Story: Mark Ludas @aulos.media
Photos: Peter Stog for LOKL cafe peterstog.com