Agent of Transition with Kate Cox
John Caruso discovers how smart movers aren’t retiring from life – they are rewriting the next chapter of life – with friends, fun, and freedom firmly in hand.
Being the sensitive, ever-so-slightly greying interviewer, I blundered into my latest chat with real estate agent Kate Cox with the suggestion about clients downsizing and moving due to their advanced years.
That idea didn’t last long. Kate put any notions of real estate as some conveyor belt for the elderly to rest very quickly. She is unequivocally not in the business of shuffling people into retirement villages. No, her patch of the real estate game is brimming with life, full of folks keen to take the wheel and decide for themselves how the next act plays out.
“My clients aren’t moving because they have to, and it’s certainly not just about getting old,” Kate says, her no-nonsense voice carrying the sort of conviction that could flatten a suburb full of excuses.
“It’s about being in control. People want to choose their own timing and circumstances – that’s empowering.”
The real story, as Kate sees it, isn’t about crestfallen baby boomers being evicted by the looming spectre of the calendar. From her front-row seat, it’s about intelligent, future-focused adults outmanoeuvring the inertia that leaves so many people marooned in houses that have outgrown them.
“There’s something very modern about the way people approach these transitions now,” she says. “They want autonomy. Instead of waiting until it’s a crisis, when a partner passes away, or health pushes their hand, they’re planning their moves with intention. It’s a very positive story.”
I’d love to say my questions dazzled Kate, but let’s be brutally honest: my humble observations about ‘choice’ and ‘control’ probably sounded to her like a dad joke at a barbecue – well-meaning but slightly misplaced.
Yet, her response was generous, nudging the conversation to higher ground. She is adamant that her role isn’t about convincing people to do something uncomfortable or scary, it’s about people taking charge.
“My clients are taking control of what’s next,” she says proudly. “They’re moving when they still have energy, when they can enjoy a new place, make new connections, and throw themselves into the next chapter. That’s when moving feels like an adventure, not a backward step.”
Now, if you think that means families are just drifting into anonymous rows of units, reimagining themselves as bachelor(ette)s in soulless boxes, think again. Kate, ever the social cartographer, points out what’s really drawing people to certain streets or apartment blocks: “People want to be surrounded by their tribe. It’s about friends, yes, but also the spontaneous glass of wine on a Friday, the walking club on Wednesdays, sharing stories at the Noosa markets, looking out for each other,” she says. “This isn’t ‘downsizing’; it’s transitioning into a community where connection is the main currency.”
Imagine you’ve lived in a big, family home for a couple of decades, the walls echoing with memories; rooms that were once bursting at the seams, now seemingly empty; and maintenance now taking up time that you’d rather spend on other pleasurely and leisurely pursuits.
You’re not moving because someone told you it’s time. You’re sizing up the next chapter, plotting the course, choosing proximity to kindred spirits and the vibrant, messy business of living.
As for the whole ‘downsizing’ cliché, Kate is acutely aware of how lazy that word is, and she won’t let me (or anyone else within reach) get away with it.
“It’s not about shrinking or letting go of abundance. It’s about editing life to make room for what really matters,” she affirms.
I found myself reassured, even inspired, by Kate’s perspective. Maybe it’s because, like many of her clients, I sometimes imagine what life would be if I lived closer to mates or didn’t have to mow lawns the size of a small AFL field.
Maybe, deep down, we all want to be the authors of our own stories, right to the very end.
So, if you see a Reed & Co sign by the kerb with Kate Cox’s name on it, remember that she isn’t orchestrating farewells to youthful exuberance, she’s an agent of transition, the enabler of agency, the broker of belonging, the facilitator of finding your group.
And as for this humble writer, well, I’ve learned the benefits of retiring my lazy assumptions, and my lawnmower.
