We just took the van in for an oil change and rear brakes in preparation for our trip(s). We noticed, standing in the long line which had formed even before the doors opened, that Chris McCarthy’s certifications weren’t on the wall any more; just three blank spaces where the paint was a lighter color.

When we got to the front we asked if Chris had left, and the chap behind the counter volunteered that Chris would be opening his own place across the street soon, but that they still had all the same technicians they’d had when Chris was there.

And I thought, so what?

I didn’t go there for anybody’s technical expertise. Most folks who can get and keep a job as a mechanic are competent at the technical stuff. The primary place auto shops fall down is in the ethics department.

We trust Chris McCarthy. I couldn’t care less who his technicians are; I know he’ll hire the right people, expect good work and honesty, and treat me with respect.

It’s not about the technicians, folks. It’s not about doing a good job. You can be the best in the world, but people do business with people they know, like, and trust.

Ever notice how a nearby sound is louder than something farther away? I was in the bedroom, with the radio on in another room. It was loud; loud enough, anyway.

The Little One came in and sat on the bed with a bag of chips and started crunching away. And completely drowned out the radio. Now, there’s no way her crunching is louder than my music (trust me) but proximity created greater apparent volume.

Closer = Louder—But Should It?

Who sounds loud, just because they’re close to you? Are your newest clients making suggestions or demands that wouldn’t make sense to your old loyal cadre? Are your peers offering advice that doesn’t fit? Is your mom or your brother or your neighbor telling you what you should or shouldn’t do for a living?

It’s a good idea to hear a wide variety of input. Hear it, but know what’s loud, and what’s close, and the difference between the two.

New Business Heretics Weekly Radio Ballyhoo posted. Tom and I talk about what you do when you’re presenting, speaking in some level of formality, and you lose your place.

We also discuss briefly why chairs and tables should have three legs, and why they have four instead. It fits, really it does.

Oh; here’s my clip from the show; the place where Tom got me to yell ‘Bingo!’ right in the middle of his sentence:

Signal and noise in your presentation

I just got a call on my Skype number from Trevor.

“So what?” Yes, I heard you think that. We get phone calls all the time. But let me describe this in a little detail and see if you feel the same wonder I do.

I’m sitting at my computer. No phone rang; instead, a message popped up on my screen, glowing transparent over other work so as to be less intrusive, telling me not only that I had a call, but the name of the caller.

I am in northern California, just outside Sacramento. The caller, Trevor Gay, is in England. He was using a cell phone, and wanted to make a test call to a Skype number. He saw I was online, and decided to give me a quick ring. To test Skype’s conferencing feature, I added my wife Sue, sitting across the office from me, to the call; she and Trevor had a quick chat.

All this took 8 minutes. And here’s what happened in that 8 minutes.

Someone in England, using a cell phone, called my computer, not a telephone. Both our voices were converted to digital bits, sent over the internet like an email, converted to sound, all that stuff.

We had a conference call. Remember when that was a big deal, requiring special equipment? Nah. Just click a couple buttons and connect people.

I had a free conversation, a quick chat, with someone halfway around the world. I remember a time when long distance was saved for really important stuff, and international calls were virtually unheard of except for the most extreme circumstances.

Are you using technology to cut through the noise, and be more human? Or are you letting technology shape you to its own ends, becoming more ‘connected’, but less connected?

We had a great launch today; I think the radio show is going to be even more fun than I expected.

We talked about how to avoid getting sucked into fruitless and pointless arguments with people who don’t seem to grasp the fundamental rules of engagement in logical debate. Tom’s excellent point was that we need to, as early as possible, assess two things: content and agenda.

Hear Tom’s explanation in this 2-minute clip from today’s show.

It’s probably just me.

I have in my inbox not just one, not just two, but three emails outlining product launches that have happened recently. In them, they glibly refer to “making five figures in XX number of days or hours”

Five figures. That’s, minimum, $10,000 (unless they’re counting pennies, in which case it’s $100.00 which I sorta doubt.)

Really? Folks I’ve never heard of are making what I would consider two solid months’ income in a couple days? Does anyone else ever feel like maybe, when their ship came in, they were at the airport waiting for a train?

It’s probably just me.

Mother and daughter team Barbara and Shannon Kelley write a fun and opinionated blog called ‘Undecided‘ in which they discuss challenges specific to women in business.

One point keeps nagging me, far in the back of my mind. Today’s post, about Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor, nailed down what’s been niggling.

The Kelleys say “For generations, men’s roles have been predetermined, and unquestioned” and comment on the challenges of a woman who’s trying to find the balance of being herself while fitting into what was, until fairly recently, a man’s role.

Here’s the thing: I’ve been doing that my whole life. Well, switch the roles, but in a lot of ways, I’ve never been fully comfortable with what the stereotypical man is supposedly like. I couldn’t care less about sports. I’m much more interested in talking to a woman than staring at one. (I’m generally more interested in talking to a woman than to a man, too.)

My business model has always been focused on relationships, communication, emotional connections. I do not ‘close’ sales. I don’t go for the jugular in business deals. I tend far more toward kind and gentle than sharp and assertive.

I deeply appreciate the struggle women have had to achieve anything near equality in a seriously unfair world. I know, a little, how it feels.

Ever been at a party and heard your name from across the room? Through all that noise, you heard a tiny bit of information which is, understandably, important to you.

Reticular Activating System

How is that possible? The same way you can even follow a conversation in a crowded room: it’s your reticular activating system. (It’s in that picture over there. Isn’t it lovely?)

Here’s another cocktail party game: remember that time the person you were stuck talking to was so boring you were considering pulling your own ears off, but instead, you started listening to the folks sitting behind you? Never took your eyes off the snoozing boor in front of you, and you could even still hear their voice if you chose to, but your attention was elsewhere. (Oh, come on; you’ve done it. Yes you have.)

Sometimes, there’s just so much going on that you jump back and forth, mentally, between two conversations—without moving a muscle. Just shift focus; over here, then over there.

So what on earth does your reticular activating system have to do with business?

Your clients have one, too.

Ask most small business operators who their target client is, and they’ll say “everyone!” Remember the cocktail party? When some random person across the room says “hey; wanna hear a joke?” you don’t even hear them, because your RAS doesn’t pick up stuff like that. It’s a focus tool, and you don’t focus on random.

Neither do your clients.

When your marketing materials speak directly to a specific narrow niche, you cut through the clutter, and they hear you. If you’re writing to ‘everyone’, guess who hears you? No one.

But if you’re writing to single moms with school age children trying to start a service business they can operate while the kids are in school, which the kids can help with during the summer—all of a sudden, when those folks read your blog or hear you speak at an event, they hear you loud and clear. Their RAS focuses them on your message, because it is obvious that you’re speaking to them, not to the room in general.

Specific narrow niche. Choose one, speak to it, get heard, and grow.

Having a lively conversation on Twitter a few days ago about exactly when the rock group Genesis was ‘pre Phil Collins.’ Collins joined the group in 1970, but the personality of the group was still determined by lead vocalist and primary songwriter Peter Gabriel. Collins did do some lead vocals during the 70-75 ‘Gabriel’ era, and took over entirely when Peter left. None of that is important, nor is it business-related. What happened next is both.

When the conversation reached this juncture, the other person wrote something about ‘wasting time in a silly argument about a band.’ Clearly, they hadn’t been having ‘a lively conversation’ but an argument. (Oblique lesson: remember, kids, that email, IM, Twitter, any written communication, reads much flatter than you meant; plain simple statements, without the warmth of a facial expression and tone of voice, can sound harsh and obnoxious.)

At this point, the right thing is to apologize for giving offense.

That’s not enough. It’s the right direction, but doesn’t go far enough. An apology might alleviate further damage, but rarely does what we’d like as far as cleaning up the mess.

Wouldn’t it be nice, instead of simply stopping the negative flow, to create a positive direction in the relationship? Here’s how: make the apology excessive. Make it a big, passionate, almost over-the-top plea for forgiveness. Now, it’s important that your motives are good, or this will come out sounding like sarcasm. But if you really feel passionately about reconnecting with someone, soothing hurt feelings, a sincere but excessive apology creates a sort of yo-yo of emotional energy; the other person actually feels compelled, now, to comfort you! They will almost inevitably apologize back, actively looking for a way to reconnect with you—which is what we wanted, right?

Here’s the bonus tip: if someone’s perturbed, and taking it out on you even though it’s obviously not your fault, apologize. Same trick, same results. In this case, any apology is excessive. “I’m really sorry about the traffic today; I can imagine how frustrating that was.” Emotional yo-yo again.

An apology where unwarranted, or excessive where warranted. Magic trick to smooth ruffled feathers and take the smoke and sting out of a conversation and let you get back to business.

There’s a marvelous tool that will help you free up mental energy, while ensuring that you’ll remember important ideas, facts, and feelings.

It’s a notebook.

I’ve spent an hour this morning trying to remember the details of a conversation I had with a client, so I can write an outline for our next coaching session. I feel like I’m not providing the real value I want to deliver when I can’t get back in the emotional moment that sparked a very clear picture of our next chat; our direction for the next session.

Thing is, I really was taking notes—but on what my client was saying, not on what I was saying. I mean, I’ll remember my own words, right?

As a matter of fact, no; I don’t.

I’m planning on recording these calls, strictly so I can go back and review what was said and how it was said, to recapture the emotional impact. My benefit comes from changing how people feel based on what they think about, not just sharing facts for them to sort out in their own head.

My dad never went anywhere without a little thirty-nine cent notebook in his shirt pocket (he write in it with a fountain pen, in green ink—but that’s another story.) When he needed to remember something, he just wrote it down. Not only did he actually remember things later (reviewing the notes) but his mind was free to concentrate on the moment instead of spending part of its energy remembering the three simple little things he needed to remember—they were in the notebook, not his head.