I’m going to go out on a limb and say you would want me at your cocktail party. I like to talk to strangers, I honestly do, and I’m well trained in the art of not over-staying. Also, I have never spilled a drink.
But you would not want me at your party with this one certain brain surgeon. Reader, grab your popcorn.
Several years ago, I was invited to a soiree at the home of a neighbor, where I fell into conversation with a man who quickly made it clear he ran a department at a big hospital. How did he make it clear? Well, by telling me, “Essentially, you can think of me as a brain surgeon who’s also a Fortune 500 CEO.” I asked him how many people he led. He answered 150 with an air of great importance. Believe me, I know that leading even one person is hard, but leading 150 does not put you in your titan era.
It took another 20 minutes of bloviation for my new acquaintance to finally ask what I did. I told him – briefly, because that’s how it’s done – and his eyebrows shot up. “How could you possibly say this thing works?” he asked incredulously about the Becoming You Methodology. “I mean, where’s the proof?”
Again, I am usually a good guest and a polite person in general, but suddenly I felt my inner Sicilian girl…unleashed. I knew Becoming You worked. I’d seen people cry from the breakthroughs it sparked. I’d felt the hope it inspired. I’d been in the room where it happened, again and again and again.
“I don’t have data,” I finally managed to eke out. No one has ever clutched a vodka tighter. Then, I heard myself say, “You know what, mister, this is my life’s work you’re sh*tting on.”
OK, it did not go well after that. I might have gone on to call him an “asshat.” In fact, the hostess reported that I did when she phoned the next morning to ask if she could give this guy my number, because he had asked. That – that – is how clueless he was.
But you know what? He might have been obnoxious in his delivery, but his message was right. One thousand percent right. People who make us really mad, who embarrass us, who rattle us – sometimes are, because sometimes they are saying what we would be better off knowing but do not want to hear.
