This geriatric happy hour turned out to be one of the best parties this advisor ever attended. What are the odds of encountering three such amazing stories in one place in Little Rock? The former roommate of a famous poet, a secretary to a famous and historically significant senator and a famous figure in the battle for civil rights!
What struck this advisor that night was the number of other amazing stories he missed because he failed to ask a question and failed to show interest. How many wonderful, interesting and amazing stories do we walk right by in the average week?
The Autobiographical Impulse
Not only do we all have a story to tell; we also have a need to tell it. Granted, you won’t always hear dramatic histories like the advisor in this story did, but you will hear things of importance, because all of us are important and have unique lives to talk about. Consider this: You may be the first person who has ever asked. Most people focus on being interesting rather than interested. We all have a biographical impulse fueling a parade of stories about ourselves; yet we somehow fail to connect the need to tell our own story to the fact that others do too.
This can be especially true of recent retirees who are feeling a loss of respect and a perceived societal demotion. As one retiree put it, “I went from being in Who’s Who to ‘Who’s he?’ almost overnight.” These retirees are suffering from what I call the “loss of status syndrome.” Suddenly they feel they are no longer valued. Because they aren’t “doing” anything, they feel their story means little or even nothing. None of us will ever outgrow this need for respect.
And curiosity is the ultimate form of respect. It tells someone that their story is important to you.
This autobiographical impulse living within us is the neglected key that unlocks meaningful and lasting client relationships. We remember and are loyal to the people who show an interest in us.
When my brother, Mark, was in college in the early 1980s studying political science, he came across two books in the college library by Evelyn Lincoln, the former secretary to John F. Kennedy: Kennedy and Johnson and My Twelve Years with JFK. Mark was an aficionado of the late president, reading everything he could get his hands on, and was thrilled to come across these two old volumes that had not been checked out of the library in over 15 years.
He decided to write the author a letter to tell her how much he enjoyed her books. Much to his surprise, she wrote back a lengthy response. At the time, she was in her 70s and not many people paid attention to those works—or to John F. Kennedy, for that matter. She was thrilled to find a student so curious and interested. The letter exchange soon turned into a telephone exchange, and then Lincoln offered Mark an invitation to visit her and her husband Harold (who had worked closely with Bobby Kennedy in the attorney general’s office). Mark was ecstatic.
After a couple of visits, Mark invited me to meet them as well. The dinner started at 6 p.m. and didn’t wrap up until midnight. In terms of intrigue and interest, the conversation was unmatched by any I had experienced in my lifetime. Here were two people on the inside of the Bay of Pigs Invasion, the Cuban Missile Crisis, John Kennedy’s assassination and more. Their knowledge and insight had been largely neglected. They lived on the inside of history and had stories to tell—awe-inspiring, revelatory and salacious.
As intriguing as it was, the most astounding part of the conversation was the fact that I had never met two people in my life who showed more interest in me! There I was, an unknown young man from Iowa, and the couple interviewed me like my story was the greatest account they had ever heard. They found out unique aspects of my life, work and ideas and kept digging like archaeologists who found a valuable shard. I was dumbfounded at their genuine interest in me—contrasted with who they were and their status in the world. I felt I had to wrestle past their curiosity about me to get them to share their endlessly interesting stories and insights.
Harold told us, “If we ever told the things we know, it would blow the lid off Capitol Hill.” Evelyn had kept a journal of JFK’s whereabouts and doings from 1951 to 1963 and had been offered millions of dollars by publishers for it. She never sold it, and she took the notes to her grave. It’s hard to believe that such a scenario like that would ever play out in this modern age.
These people still stand out in my memory as two of the most amazing people I have ever met—not just because of who they were—but also because of how interested they were in who I was.
Earning Real Client Interest
It’s necessary to show more interest in our clients’ lives, too.
After attending my story workshops, advisors often approach me and ask, “If I have neglected to do this in the past, isn’t it going to seem sort of strange to start digging deeper into their story now?”
My response? “Only if you are uncomfortable asking.”
The easy preface to start a conversation you wished you’d started long ago is, “You know, I don’t know if I ever asked you, but …” and then ask your question.
How do you feel when people show genuine interest in your life, history, work and accomplishments? Offended? Invaded? No. That’s what you feel when people ask inappropriate, prying or silly questions. When you ask somebody about their story, something different happens. You feel interesting, worthy of inquiry and important, and the dialogue rolls forth. In the process, you gain a real appreciation for the person you are working for. The empathetic connection you’ve made is so powerful that it will be next to impossible for any competitor to come between you and your client.
The journey into biography begins with a single question. How you choose to start the dialogue is up to you.
Mitch Anthony is the creator of Life-Centered Planning, the author of 12 books for advisors, and the co-founder of ROLadvisor.com and LifeCentered Planners.com.