01/19/2024
Lesson number 7 : You're always selling son.
The Salesman, the Father, and the Princess:
Six years ago, the construction dust settled, replaced by the polished gleam of boardrooms and sales pitches. I traded calloused hands for the handshake symphony, driven by a thirst for two sides of the coin: business as a system, from labor's grit to the seductive dance of marketing. But there was another, more personal motive – the need to bridge the chasm of communication. Years of arguments with my kids, lost in the tangled thicket of single fatherhood, convinced me: I needed to sell, not products, but myself, my words, my understanding.
Dad's voice echoed in my head, a mantra he'd worn like a favorite sweater: "You're always selling, son. Whether it's a wife, a job, an idea, you're weaving threads of persuasion, building bridges of connection." Back then, it seemed cryptic, a sales pitch for life itself. Now, standing in my daughter Matilda's doorway, the lessons clicked like tumblers aligning in a lock.
"Bath time, princess," I announced, not with the forced cheer of old, but with a playful glint in my eyes. But the "no" came swift and sure, a tiny hurricane in pink pajamas. I could've launched into the usual script, the tired tug-of-war of wills. But something stopped me. Dad's eyes, peering over my shoulder, urged me to climb to the 180th floor, to see the system behind the tantrum.
"Aren't princesses supposed to sparkle?" I asked, my voice laced with wonder. She eyed me suspiciously. "Well, yeah," she conceded, a flicker of curiosity fighting the sleepiness in her eyes. "But they get dirty too, don't they?" I continued, gently. "Even the fanciest diamonds need a bath to shine."
And there it was – a bridge built not with demands, but with shared stories, with whispers of a princess's hidden secret: the magic of sparkling clean. The "no" melted, replaced by a hesitant "okay," a smile blooming on her face as she grabbed her rubber ducky, ready to reclaim her royal sparkle.
The bath that night wasn't just about hygiene; it was a victory lap, a shared secret decoded, a lesson learned anew. Dad's words, once abstract, now shimmered with practical wisdom. Selling wasn't about manipulation, but about understanding, about finding the hidden levers that unlocked the door to connection. And sometimes, the most potent tool in your arsenal wasn't a fancy sales pitch, but a simple story, a shared laugh, a princess's secret yearning to shine.
This lesson isn't just about career choices or communication tactics. It's about remembering that human connection thrives not on scripts and tricks, but on empathy, shared narratives, and the magic of understanding the systems – not just of business, but of the human heart. It's about recognizing that sometimes, the best sales pitch is the one that whispers, not shouts, the one that builds bridges, not walls, the one that reminds us we're all, in our own way, a little bit princess, yearning to shine.
Where do you want to take this newfound awareness of the "human sales pitch"? How will you use it to build bridges, not just in your work, but in your family, your community, your own inner world? The story continues, waiting to be woven with the threads of your experiences and insights.
Been writing a book of all the lessons my father taught me. Crazy last week number 7 finally got through. I knew I was getting it. Here's a the lesson and the moment from the book tell me what you think.
