In my early 20s, I engaged in volunteer service in California. One of my colleagues was a musician—as was I. One day during casual conversation with one of the townspeople, the topic of our musicianship came up. This person volunteered at a large retirement home. She asked if we would be willing to put on an hour-long music program for the residents. I replied, “Sure—no big deal.” Well, the residents loved our program. I can still see them rolling back and forth in their wheelchairs with huge smiles and clapping their hands in unison as we performed. We were asked to come back again, and again…
One day we arrived to perform and a nurse asked if she could talk with us for a minute before we started. She looked directly into our eyes and said, “There are some people in that room waiting for you to perform—the only reason they have to live from week to week is to see your smiling faces and hear your music. I just thought you ought to know that.” It took me weeks to wrap my head around that statement. What was “no big deal” to me was someone else’s reason for being alive!
As the years unfolded, I eventually became a “performer” for a living—not a musician, but a professional speaker and workshop facilitator. Over the years, I have delivered hundreds of speeches and workshops. I feel incredibly privileged to have spent my career doing what I most love to do—inspire people to rediscover their true selves, own their personal greatness, and shine that greatness brightly into our world!
During my career, I have received many heart-felt and touching letters, notes, and compliments. Not long ago, after completing a two-day workshop, people lined up to talk with me. I noticed a sharply dressed man hanging back from the crowd. When everyone had finally left the room, he approached me and clasped my hand with both of his. As I met his gaze, I saw tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked right through my eyes and into my soul and said, “I just wanted to thank you—you have transformed my life.”
After packing up my things, I sat for some time in that empty conference room thinking deeply about what that man had said to me. As I did so, I experienced a flood of different emotions—humility, gratitude, joy… My thoughts then drifted to those long-ago days in California when I performed at a retirement home with a friend. As I replayed images of people in wheel chairs smiling, clapping, and rolling back and forth, I remembered the important lesson a nurse’s comment had taught me all those years ago: Sometimes the contributions we make to the world through our talents and abilities produce positive results way beyond our expectations—or even our understanding.