What will I get out of it? That’s the burning question of our times. Why show up to the meeting? Why follow up with a prospect? Why attend the class or invest in the tech or follow a routine? Everything seems so transactional - like a bad LinkedIn connect request - always followed by some hidden need to:
Get something out of it.
A single minute on an elevator recently reminded me of the potential for an alternative. Holding the doors for a woman carrying a bunch of plastic bags, I asked, “What floor are you going to?”
“The 34th please,” she said, frowning, and a little out of breath.
“That looks like a lot of groceries. Are you staying here long?” I made small talk as the doors closed.
“Actually, I’ve been living here for three months. My apartment had a water leak,” she sighed.
“Wow! That’s a long time to repair,” I said.
“Actually,” she rolled her eyes, “the night before I was supposed to move back in last week, it had a SECOND leak!”
“That’s awful,” I said.
”Sounds like you should call in Seal Team Six!” I tried to make a light joke about her misfortune.
The woman looked at me with tears in her eyes, holding her breath. Then, suddenly, she burst out laughing. Full, big, heartfelt laughter. I couldn’t help it but break out into giggles with her, too.
“Oh my god,” she said. “That was so bad! But I think it’s the first time I’ve laughed in a long time. I’ve been so cooped up in this hotel.”
“Well, maybe your apartment troubles were life’s way of telling you to get out a meet people?” I suggested.
“Or at least talk to strangers in an elevator. I’m glad I ran into you,” she said as the elevator came to a stop.
“It was worth the trip.”
So that was why I was in the city that day. Not to just teach my class or network or catch up with clients. Not to get a free dinner or a lead on another deal down the road.
Just to be there. To connect with someone. To share the least marketable part of me - my silly sense of puns - and to make someone laugh a little. To break tension and restore some hope.
As I flew home later in the week, I passed the time looking out the window. Some things are valuable just because they are there. They exist to be encountered. Not captured or traded or extracted. Our time with them may not even last long - as you enjoy them, they reach their floor or pass by the window. But you had a moment together, and it was enough to -
Give you everything you need.
That’s my game. To show up and share, me. To play a different game - not squeeze every moment into a funnel - but to turn a chance encounter into something we both might need:
A moment of thanks for being there.
Here’s to a very different reason for being there, and many terrific tomorrows.
Together.