Permit Me to Talk About Permits

The language of real estate borrows ordinary words and gives them peculiar, specialized meanings. Appreciation isn't gratitude—it's an increase in value. Equity isn't fairness—it's ownership. And permit? That's the one I've been thinking about lately, along with permission.

In San Francisco, a permit is a document issued by the Department of Building Inspection (DBI). It grants an owner permission to add a window, move a wall, finish a basement, remodel a kitchen, build an ADU, or undertake any number of projects that alter a home. The idea is straightforward enough: the city wants to ensure that construction is safe, thoughtfully designed, and in compliance with building codes.

As Realtors, we're forever talking about permits, and permitted and unpermitted spaces.

• "Note, the lower level in-law wasn’t done with permit."

• "The attic was finished decades ago, but no permit was ever obtained."

• "That square footage figure includes unpermitted space."

Sometimes these distinctions matter enormously. They affect value, financing, insurance, and future remodeling plans. Sometimes they matter less than buyers imagine. Every property has its own story.

To obtain a permit is to receive permission from the city. Yet in every other part of life, permission is something far more personal. We give ourselves permission to rest. Permission to make mistakes. Permission to start over. Permission to become beginners again. Permission to leave the career that no longer fits. Permission to spend an afternoon reading instead of answering email. Permission to become the person we've quietly suspected we might be all along.

No department issues those permits. No inspector arrives to sign off. No official stamp appears in the corner. It’s not a matter of public record.

Perhaps that's why those permits or permissions are often harder to obtain. The city can tell us whether a staircase meets code. It cannot tell us whether we've outgrown the life we're living. It can approve an addition to the back of a too-small house. It cannot approve adding more joy to a shrunken life.

Change is inevitable and homes, like people, have a way of growing into themselves – permit or no permit. Some additions happen exactly according to plan. Drawings are submitted. Inspections occur. Permits are granted. Everything proceeds by the book.

Other changes evolve slowly, imperceptibly. A breakfast nook becomes a writing corner. A garage becomes an art studio. The partners in a marriage drift apart.

Of course, if you're planning any sort of construction in San Francisco, please research and obtain the appropriate permits. (The Realtor in me insists I say that, and I can help you with resources and referrals – to architects, builders, inspectors, interior decorators, etc.)

But the philosopher in me wonders whether we sometimes spend so much time seeking permission from everyone else that we forget to give ourselves the permissions that matter most. Maybe today is a good day to permit a small change or addition? Not to your house. To your beautiful and precious life.