Home was never just walls and a roof for me — it was the heartbeat of my family.
My father, a construction worker, spent long days and nights building homes for others while making sure ours stood strong. My mother, once a top swimmer in high school, had her dreams interrupted when she was diagnosed with severe scoliosis. That diagnosis changed her life, leaving her handicapped after having children.
But her strength never wavered. She passed down those athletic genes and dedication to us kids — not only making us the first Brett family members ever to attend college but also NCAA athletes. Her resilience taught us that love and determination could fill any space, no matter what the limitations.
I grew up with two siblings — a brother and a sister — sharing laughter, chores and dreams under one roof. Our home was where we learned resilience, where we saw sacrifice firsthand and where we understood what family truly meant. Coupled with a few wrestling matches in the living room.
Years later, I met my wife Shelby while playing pickup soccer after college in Philadelphia. A fun, strong and loving woman from Reading, Pennsylvania. Together, we built a life and had two children.
When my kids were just babies, my career in mortgage banking took us far from those familiar suburban Philadelphia streets: Miami’s ocean breeze, St. Louis’s Midwest charm and Portland’s misty mornings. Each city across the nation gave us a house. But none felt like home. They were places to live, not places where roots ran deep.
Then came December 2020, amid a world turned upside down by COVID. We packed up from Oregon and returned — not just to my hometown but to a street where my childhood memories still lingered. Ten houses down from my parents, where laughter once echoed and lessons were learned.
It wasn’t just proximity; it was a circle closing. And with that move came an incredible opportunity to join Cenlar.
At Cenlar, we help homeowners take care of their most important investment in life — their home. And what I’ve learned is that everyone has a different meaning and story behind that word. For some, it’s a fresh start. For others, it’s a legacy. For me, it’s family. Being where your feet are. Presence over perfection.
Now, my kids play soccer in the same backyard my dad and I once did. Our home is alive with family games, the sound of cheering and the smell of home-cooked meals. It’s where my children are growing up surrounded by grandparents, cousins and the same sense of belonging I once knew.
Home, I’ve learned, isn’t about square footage or ZIP codes. It’s about belonging. It’s about the people who built you. It’s about coming back — not because you must but because your heart never really left.
Ten Houses Down
