From Harvard PhD to Asheville Realtor: My Unlikely Career Pivot

People love a good pivot story. PhD to realtor? That's the kind of career change that makes folks lean in at parties. "But why?" they ask, usually holding a craft beer at some West Asheville gathering. Here's the real answer—not the elevator pitch I've perfected, but the messy, human truth of how I ended up here.

The Boston Years

Picture this: I'm in my late twenties, living in Boston, working at Harvard after finishing my PhD in clinical and translational nutrition science. My research focused on how diet can be used to treat epilepsy—specifically, I spent years in hospitals working with kids, running trials, analyzing data, publishing papers.

I loved it. Let me be clear about that. The work mattered. When you see a kid's seizures drop from hundreds a day to just a few because of dietary changes you helped research? That's not something you walk away from lightly.

But here's what they don't tell you about academic research: it consumes everything. My life was grant applications, conference presentations, and endless revisions of manuscripts. I'd wake up thinking about p-values and fall asleep reviewing protocols. Even my social life revolved around other researchers who understood why I'd cancel plans for a data deadline.

When Two Things Are True at Once

Somewhere around year three of post-PhD life, I had this realization that's shaped how I think about big decisions: two things could be true at once. I loved the work, and I needed to pivot.

The signs were everywhere. I'd gained weight despite researching nutrition. I barely saw friends outside the lab. My marriage was strained (though we didn't admit it yet). I was living in one of America's great cities but experienced it mainly through the windows of the Red Line subway.

A family member—one of those people who sees you more clearly than you see yourself—suggested real estate. I laughed. Me? Showing houses? Making small talk about crown molding?

But then they pointed out what I couldn't see: I lit up when talking about spaces. I was the friend people called when apartment hunting. I understood intuitively how the right home could change someone's daily life. Maybe, they suggested, this wasn't as random as it seemed.

Hitting the Ground Running (Literally)

October 2019. I moved to Asheville with my then-spouse, a fresh real estate license, and absolutely no idea what I was doing. I'd visited once, fallen for the mountains, and decided that if I was going to reinvent my life, I might as well do it somewhere beautiful.

The career transition was jarring. I went from explaining complex statistical models to explaining earnest money deposits. From writing grants to writing listing descriptions. From the ivory tower to... well, showing actual towers (okay, condos) in downtown Asheville.

But something clicked. The project-based nature of real estate transactions scratched the same itch as research projects. The creativity needed to match people with homes engaged parts of my brain that had been dormant. Most surprisingly, I was good at it.

Finding Home While Helping Others Find Theirs

Here's where it gets personal. Growing up, I never had a strong sense of home. Military family, frequent moves, always the new kid. Maybe that disconnection is why I'm drawn to helping others find their place.

It follows that I get genuine joy from seeing clients' faces when they walk into *the* house. That moment when a space stops being an MLS listing and starts being where they'll drink their morning coffee, where their dog will have a favorite sunny spot, where they'll host friends for dinner.

The irony isn't lost on me. My marriage ended here in Asheville—the very place we'd moved to start fresh. But through showing houses, exploring neighborhoods, and building a new community, I found my own sense of home. Wesley (my Springer Spaniel) and I have walked every street in West, South, and East Asheville. I know which coffee shops have the best cortados (Always a Cortado!!!), where to find parking downtown, which trails are perfect for morning runs.

The Volleyball Connection

If you want to know how I really built my life here, it's simple: volleyball at Highland Brewing. Every Saturday, sometimes Thursdays too. That's where Asheville's gay community actually gathers—not in apps or bars, but on sand courts with local beer and mountain views.

It's such a different world from academic conferences. No one cares about your publication record. They care if you can set, if you'll sub in when someone's short a player, if you'll stick around for a beer after. It's community in its purest form.

What This Means for You

Why am I telling you all this? Because if you're reading this, you might be considering your own pivot. Maybe not career—maybe it's geographic, maybe it's personal, maybe it's all of the above.

Here's what I've learned: Asheville is a good place for reinvention. It's small enough that you can build a reputation quickly, large enough that you can find your people. It attracts others who've chosen beauty over convenience, community over climbing ladders.

As a realtor, I work with a lot of people making similar leaps. Tech workers going remote. Teachers starting over. Artists choosing inspiration over income. Each story is different, but the thread is the same: they're choosing a life that makes sense for them, not anyone else.

The Plot Twist Ending

That family member who suggested real estate? They were right. Not just about the career, but about what they saw in me. I do light up talking about spaces. I do understand how the right home changes everything.

These days, my life looks nothing like it did in Boston. I'm up at 5:30 for coffee and trail runs. I know most baristas by name. I have a boyfriend who also chose mountains over his previous city life. Wesley has approximately 47 favorite spots around town.

Do I miss the research sometimes? Sure. There's a specific satisfaction in contributing to scientific knowledge that real estate doesn't replicate. But I've found different satisfactions: helping a young couple buy their first home, introducing newcomers to the volleyball crew, being part of a community in ways that academia never allowed.

Two things can be true at once. You can love what you're leaving and still need to leave. You can be grateful for your past and excited for your future. You can be a Harvard PhD and an Asheville realtor, and both can make perfect sense.