We live in a highly tourist trafficked coastal town in the Southern United States that has the dubious distinction of being named "The Best Small City in the United States, and 2nd (next to Florence, Italy) in the world” 2nd in Wedding destination, & a Top 3 Food and Wine destination by top travel publications, for several years running.
Engaging in this hosting endeavor started as a dare, but as a classic over-achiever, perfectionist, and inclined to share my occasional selfish pretense for really nice stuff, I accepted the challenge. We welcomed our first guest 10 days after we moved into our new home.
Our hosting profile is mostly hit and run, 1-3 day stays, gastro- tourists, wedding goers, culture chasers or those curious to see on of the oldest and most historic towns in the US. Our first year we had a total of 9 nights free between our 2 spaces. After hosting over 240 completed trips in our two, on-site spaces (one inside the home and another which is a separate space outside) in just under a year, I suffered a major burn out after a series of unforeseen “natural disasters” that resulted in AirBNB being gracious enough to reroute our guests to other accommodations, allowing us to restore the property without penalty. Despite the setbacks, the run produced Super Host status and a 96%, 5-star rating, primarily from the obsessive demands on my family to bend to my absolute authority for complete “Southern Hospitality” perfection. No exceptions.
Even though we love hosting, (despite my authoritarian-style rule,) during what we have come to refer as "The Reckoning" I lost my momentum and started to enjoy the autonomy of a suitcase-free zone. Knowing I didn’t need to rise before dawn to quietly (and self-righteously) mop floors, wash sheets, shop online for luxurious, and exotic things that would be completely unexpected for our level of nightly rate, make coffee, bake, obsess about every detail, presentation, and perform the Single-Woman show, “What to do, Where and Where Not to Go Today”, during the daily guest breakfast “summit,” It allowed me to come to my senses and face the cringe-worthy behavior and permanent emotional damage I possibly inflicted on my family with gestures and looks that were so hot, they could burn a hole through the shiplap I compelled my husband to install, in a guest bathroom he would never see, unless he was bent over the tub, scrubbing it for the next set of guests. A few weeks in, and slightly depressed, it became evident I needed to evaluate my motives and priorities. As it turns out, I owe several apologies.
Before this epiphany, I was fully convinced I had this hosting thing down to physics-grade science, In free moments from my “hosting work” I would visit the community boards to read the ventings of hosts and mostly silently, but occasionally verbally, post scoffs at other hosts, assuming that they weren’t able to “master” this business because they were too much of the following: fearful, sensitive, up-tight, controlling, cheap, demanding, pedestrian or unprepared. I unabashedly pontificated the “reality” of on-site hosting (the only position I can honestly speak from,) and that clogged toilets, stained rugs, broken lamps were “just part of the cost of doing business”—and by checking the “I agree” box to initiate a hosting contract, we are, bottom line, inviting the population of the entire planet to come stay with us without stipulation or reservation, agreeing to provide an adequate venue for complete strangers to engage in what my husband and I refer to as, “The Six S’s” of hosting: Sleep, shi.. uh, use the potty, shower, shave, sex, and strange behavior. I insisted that stuff breaks, people are needy, nice, weird, demanding and amazing--that accidents happen, even when being careful, or not--- implying not so subtly, (in my most serious, Charleston accent,) “if you can’t handle it dear, perhaps you should rethink your decision?”
For those who felt disrespected by my finger pointing (and rightfully so,) on the boards, (and otherwise) I apologize. The business of hosting is hard. It can be profitable, but for the vast majority of on-site hosts offering to share a tiny piece of their world to complete strangers, it can be a daunting task—riddled with insecurities, doubts and the parlor trick of juggling life’s regular demands with unforeseen disasters, ridicules expectations, culture clashes, constant maintenance, staying relevant, vigilant, compliant & competitive while taking less, for more, in a ever-growing base of hosts …and for me, the crazed obsession of creating an illusion of a magazine perfect, continually spotless accommodations, remain sane, non-resentful and gracious, while living as a hostage in the hell of preserved perfection, that was clearly my own making. Frankly, it was exhausting. I’m a jackass. Again, please accept my humbled apologies.
After some self-evaluation and a lot of graveling at home, I found, for me, pulling back, closing the calendar on one space, increasing time between guests in the other, offering a little less, commiserate with the locally watered down nightly rate, combined with going back to work (for someone else) part time, has restored a life-size world, and some much needed curative work to my marriage (sorry honey.) I am now laser focused on my own glaring maleficence. My new mantra: “ Get over yourself. You are not a “Boutique Hotel.” I am one woman (NOT Super Woman) with a middle class house---a fully functioning home, with people and pets, with all joys, responsibilities and calamities of day to day life. Oh, right, and you can't buy 5-Star ratings with house-made banana bread with donut shop style maple glaze—well, not always.”
It is true; the basic premise of AirBNB is lost on many new to the brand and culture of house sharing. And there are certainly easier ways of making a living, but even with the inconveniences, minor crises and vast societal & cultural differences, plus the temporary insanity of my hosting mania, my family agrees the richness of this experience is the real value. We honestly missed the guests during the forced sabbatical. We’ve concluded we will never make everyone happy, so rather than focusing on assumed perfectionist expectations, we, uh, okay, (head hanging in residual shame) I, instead chose to believe you can cover a multitude of sins when you are faithful first, to the commitment of mutual inclusiveness, graciousness, openness & genuine warmth. It turns out, this, unlike imported chocolates next to the bed, custom, locally roasted coffee, or air freshener distilled and crafted from the herbs in my garden, is a currency with a nearly even exchange rate.
The take away is, more so than a Restoration Hardware style home, a hosts genuineness doesn’t get by those every-so-often, amazing, culturally aware guests I am truly not worthy of, who have sought out an authentic local stay-- Who buy in, and truly become part of who we are and where we live for a few days. The kind you actually remember their names, and miss when they go. An experience they too, hopefully will remember fondly---even when someone starts the dishwasher when they are taking a shower, or when they come down for breakfast, and the dog is mauling a baby squirrel on the sofa or when my loud, Southern gentleman husband yells an obscenity while watching the news, or, you know, when real life happens when you have guests. 5-Stars, be damned.
