After 29 Years in Business, I Changed What I Was Listening For

Early in my real estate career, I was trained to have intimate conversations with people I barely knew. I needed to understand their financial concerns, their fears, their hopes, and what might prevent them from making a decision. This was an essential part of learning to sell real estate. We were taught to identify objections, address them, and move the transaction toward a successful closing.

After 29 years in business, I have come to understand those conversations very differently. When someone tells me what worries them, I no longer automatically hear a problem that needs to be overcome. I hear another human being who may be carrying far more than I can see.

That distinction has changed the way I conduct business, the way I build relationships, and perhaps most importantly, the way I understand what it means to live a meaningful life.

The People Behind the Professional Masks

One of the most important things I learned during my career is that what you see on the outside is rarely everything that exists on the inside.

People generally show us what they want us to see. In business, we present ourselves as confident, capable, successful, and professional. We show the parts of ourselves we believe others should be privileged to know. Meanwhile, behind that carefully maintained exterior, we carry our own collection of fears, insecurities, disappointments, and unanswered questions.

I did this myself for years.

As I gained more experience working with people, I began to recognize how much we have in common beneath those outward appearances. Someone facing financial uncertainty may experience the same fear as another person struggling with a relationship. Someone questioning their professional identity may share the same insecurity as someone trying to rebuild their life after a loss. The circumstances differ, sometimes enormously, but many of the emotions are familiar.

I also discovered that we measure happiness and success in remarkably different ways. One person might celebrate buying a luxury vehicle, while another considers a quiet weekend alone the greatest luxury imaginable. Neither experience needs to diminish the other. We bring our individual histories, circumstances, and values into the way we define a successful life.

There is something else I have come to believe: regardless of our circumstances, human connection is invaluable. We may seek it in different ways, and we certainly don’t all express ourselves the same way, but the desire to feel understood, valued, and accepted is something I recognize in people everywhere.

These observations eventually led me to question an approach to business that I had practiced for much of my adult life. When a client shares a personal concern, what exactly am I listening for? Am I trying to understand the person, or am I gathering information that will help me persuade them to do what I want?

It’s an uncomfortable question for someone who spent decades in a profession where successful transactions were an important measure of achievement.

But it became an important question for me.

The Life I Had Planned

Before September 19, 2010, my professional life was remarkably structured. I regularly worked fourteen to sixteen hours a day, with my appointments and responsibilities organized down to the hour. My schedule was planned a year in advance, supported by business projections extending one, three, and five years into the future.

I was disciplined, ambitious, organized, and a proud capitalist.

I enjoyed the rewards of working hard and building successful businesses. Beautiful homes, luxury vehicles, designer clothing, and expensive meals were all part of how I measured my accomplishments. I believed that if you found something you loved doing, worked hard enough to become successful at it, and earned a good income, you had discovered the formula for a happy and meaningful life.

My business and my life were so intertwined that I rarely distinguished between the two.

Then, on September 19, 2010, I had a near-death experience.

That event profoundly changed my understanding of the future I had spent so much time trying to control.

My father used to say something to me when I was growing up: “Tomorrow is promised to no one.”

I absolutely disliked hearing those words as a child. They frightened me. I interpreted them as a warning that everything familiar and secure could disappear without notice. Where was the comfort in that? Where was the reassurance that tomorrow would arrive and everything would be all right?

Perhaps that helps explain my determination to plan so much of my adult life. I wanted to know what was coming, where I was going, and what I needed to accomplish. I built schedules and projections that gave me the comfort of believing I had some control over the future.

After my near-death experience, I began to understand my father’s words from an entirely different perspective.

Tomorrow really is promised to no one. But I no longer interpret that as a reason to live in fear. I understand it as a reminder of how valuable the present moment is.

When someone I love leaves on a trip, I want to kiss them goodbye. When I have an opportunity to spend time with friends or family, I want to appreciate that time. I cannot guarantee the future, but I can decide how fully I participate in the moments available to me today.

I spent years placing extraordinary pressure on myself to meet schedules, expectations, and carefully planned outcomes. Any interruption threatened the trajectory I had worked so hard to establish. The irony is that all this planning, which was supposed to provide security, also created enormous stress.

Today, I still understand the practical importance of planning. I have not forgotten what it takes to operate a business or meet financial responsibilities. But I have become much less willing to sacrifice the experience of living today for the illusion that I can control tomorrow.

That change in perspective eventually reached into every part of how I worked with other people.

What It Means to Give Someone Your Undivided Attention

Before my near-death experience, I tried to be everything to everybody. I was the independent woman who could handle the responsibilities, meet the demands, solve the problems, and somehow hold everything together.

If someone needed something from me, I felt responsible for delivering it. When I couldn’t meet those expectations, I interpreted that as a personal failure.

I understand that behaviour differently today.

I have knowledge, professional experience, abilities, and limitations. I know there are things I can offer another person, and there are things I cannot. I have become comfortable being honest about both.

My approach is simple: I don’t offer more than what I have, and I never give less than what I have.

That understanding has made an enormous difference in my relationships.

Recently, some friends I hadn’t seen in a long time invited me out for dinner. I was thrilled to reconnect with them. They had selected a restaurant that was extremely busy and noisy, and I knew I would find that environment uncomfortable.

Years ago, I would have gone along with whatever everyone else wanted. I would have accepted the restaurant, the noise, and whichever table was available. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to think I was being difficult or demanding.

This time, I simply asked whether we could choose somewhere quieter. I arrived a little early and selected a table where I knew I would be comfortable.

My friends didn’t care in the slightest. They were happy to see me, and I was happy to see them.

A quiet conversation can make room for attention, listening and connection. Photo by Edmond Dantès on Pexels

It was such a simple adjustment, yet it represented something significant about the way I now approach life. I respected what I needed in order to be comfortable, and that allowed me to enjoy being with the people I wanted to see.

I used to believe that giving generously meant stretching myself to meet everyone’s needs, even when I had little left to give. Today, I recognize how quickly that can deplete us.

I sometimes call it going into energetic overdraft. We continue giving beyond our capacity because we don’t want to disappoint someone. Eventually, we become exhausted, resentful, distracted, or unable to offer the attention we intended to give in the first place.

Respecting my own boundaries allows me to give more fully to the people around me. I can be honest about what I have available, rather than promising more and struggling to deliver it.

One of the most valuable things I offer another human being today is my undivided attention.

When I’m having an important conversation, I put my phone away or turn it off. I don’t want someone competing with incoming messages, another appointment, or everything else demanding my attention. I want them to know that, for the time we have together, I am genuinely there.

I believe we underestimate how much that matters.

From Closing Transactions to Understanding People

Having spent nearly three decades in real estate, I understand the financial realities of operating a business. Revenue matters. Expenses must be paid. Contracts need to be completed, and people depend on businesses fulfilling their obligations.

I am proud of my professional career, and I still appreciate the discipline and judgment it required.

What has changed is my understanding of the person sitting across from me.

When I was younger, I was trained to discover a client’s concerns so I could overcome their objections and successfully close a transaction. Today, I am far more interested in understanding the person behind those concerns and determining whether what I have to offer can genuinely help them.

I describe that kind of human connection as going belly to belly, soul to soul, heart to heart.

For me, that means being willing to meet another person with honesty, openness, and respect. It means recognizing that their concerns may reach far beyond the immediate problem we are discussing. It also means being honest about what I can contribute.

Sometimes I may have the knowledge, resources, or experience that someone needs. Other times, I may not be the right person to help them. I would rather acknowledge that than promise something I cannot deliver.

This has also changed what I consider a successful interaction. Someone might leave a conversation without purchasing anything, signing an agreement, or making an immediate decision. If they leave feeling more informed, less overwhelmed, and more confident about their next step, I believe something worthwhile has taken place.

I want people to feel that they have been genuinely heard. I want them to understand that they don’t have to navigate every difficult decision alone. And when I can contribute something useful, I want to give it without making them feel obligated to offer something in return.

After 29 years in business, I have come to value that kind of exchange more than I once understood.

A Successful Business and a Meaningful Life

For much of my life, I believed a successful business and a meaningful life were essentially the same achievement.

Find your passion, build your business, earn an income, enjoy the rewards, and you will be happy.

It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?

I certainly believed it, and I worked hard to create that life. But my near-death experience changed the way I understood the relationship between professional success and personal fulfillment.

Today, I see a successful business as something that allows us to develop our skills, pursue work we care about, provide something valuable, and earn the income necessary to support ourselves and meet our responsibilities.

A meaningful life is a much more personal experience.

For me, it means having enough money to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. It means spending time with people I love, knowing that the affection, kindness, and respect are reciprocated. It means laughing until my sides hurt, walking outside and feeling Mother Earth beneath my feet, and breaking bread with people whose company I genuinely enjoy.

It also means being present when life is difficult. We will all encounter disappointment, uncertainty, grief, and loss in one form or another. Even when we cannot change what has happened, we can come together and share those experiences. I find something deeply meaningful in our ability to recognize another person’s pain and respond with compassion.

I still believe in ambition. I still believe in creating opportunities, earning money, and enjoying the results of our efforts. Those things can contribute to a wonderful life. But they cannot tell us whether we are truly happy, whether our relationships are fulfilling, or whether we are spending our limited time in ways that matter to us.

I no longer want to measure the quality of my life entirely by the success of my work.

I spent 29 years learning about business, negotiating difficult circumstances, managing responsibilities, and working with people from different walks of life. Those experiences taught me a great deal about professional judgment and human behaviour. My near-death experience gave me a profoundly different perspective on what I wanted to do with that knowledge.

I want to use it to help people move forward with less stress, greater peace, and the confidence that someone is genuinely listening.

When I think about my father’s words today, I no longer feel the fear they once brought me.

“Tomorrow is promised to no one.”

I understand that now.

And when I have an opportunity to sit across from someone I care about, share a good meal, listen to their story, or laugh together, I want to be fully present for it.

Because after all the years I spent planning my future, one of the most important things I have learned about living is to appreciate the life that is happening right in front of me.