After 40 years in business, sales, and operations, I recently noticed something about myself that genuinely startled me.
A young man came by the house to help us prepare a few things before we eventually put our Seattle home on the market.
As he was leaving, he reached out to shake my hand and thanked me for allowing him into our home.
I shook his hand.
But afterward, I realized something.
I never actually looked him in the eye.
That stunned me. And it made me stop and wonder:
How long have I been doing that?
Here was a young man doing his job well, and somewhere along the way, I had allowed the rush of operations, pressure, deadlines, screens, constant problem-solving, and years of carrying responsibility to quietly override simple human presence.
That realization stayed with me longer than I expected.
For most of my career, I worked in businesses where every interaction carried weight. Property management, real estate, operations, compliance, customer complaints, fair housing requirements, online reviews, and the constant pressure of getting things right.
If you ran a brokerage for over 25 years, constantly navigating the threat of lawsuits, fair housing complaints, staffing issues, liabilities, customer expectations, and public scrutiny, those habits don’t disappear because you change your business card.
The habits stay with you.
The vigilance stays with you.
The professional armor stays with you.
And sometimes you don’t realize how much of that armor you’re still carrying until an ordinary moment makes you stop and ask yourself a question:
How long have I been doing that?
Not because I’m unfriendly.
Not because I don’t care about people.
But because I think many of us slowly become more guarded than we realize.
More distracted.
Less present.
The truth is, presence matters.
In business, people may respect intelligence.
But they remember warmth.
They remember calm energy.
They remember eye contact.
They remember whether they felt acknowledged.
What struck me later was that the young man and I were carrying very different things into that handshake.
He carried the openness and confidence of someone still building his path.
I carried decades of experience, responsibility, and habits formed under pressure.
Neither is better than the other.
In some ways, that’s why we need both.
The young remind us how to stay open.
The old remind us what experience has taught.
And somewhere in the middle, if we’re paying attention, we help each other become a little more human.
As I prepare for this next chapter of life, the move to Las Vegas, and the launch of West Valley Pulse, I’ve realized this journey may involve rebuilding parts of myself too.
Not rebuilding from weakness.
Rebuilding from awareness.
For years I’ve noticed how differently people acknowledge one another in different places. Whether it’s culture, pace, stress, or simply habit, many of us move through our days with a kind of invisible armor. We protect ourselves from disappointment, criticism, conflict, and the constant demands of modern life.
The armor serves a purpose.
Until one day it becomes so familiar that you no longer realize you’re wearing it.
So I’ve started practicing a few small recalibrations.
Nothing dramatic.
Just simple reminders to fully show up again.
When I shake someone’s hand, I try to notice their eye color.
I hold eye contact for a slow count of one… two… three.
Small things.
But small things change presence.
And presence changes connection.
I think many of us are relearning how to reconnect after years of distance, stress, remote work, screens, and operating at full speed.
Maybe the smartest person in the room is not always the one people remember.
Maybe they remember the person who made them feel fully seen for thirty seconds.
Maybe the question isn’t whether we wear armor.
Maybe the question is how much of it we’ve stopped noticing.
Because the habits we build to survive pressure have a way of becoming invisible.
And sometimes it takes an ordinary moment, a handshake, a conversation, or a passing observation to remind us that we’re still carrying them.
That feels worth relearning.
And honestly, I think that relearning may become part of West Valley Pulse too.
Not just understanding businesses.
Understanding the people inside them.
