This week, we hosted a gathering. As I walked up to greet the main speakers, I extended my hand to one of them. She shook it—but it felt reluctant. Her body language was stiff. Her eyes didn’t really meet mine. It was clear: she didn’t know who I was. And when I say that, I don’t mean who I am as a person—I mean, she didn’t know my title.
Now you’ve heard me speak on this before. I don’t introduce myself by title because I don’t believe you need one to be treated with dignity. So I simply extended my hand, as I would to anyone. And in return, I received a greeting that felt dismissive.
Before she got up to present, I could feel the tension.
But I stayed cool.
Later that evening, during the reception, I was in a small group talking about business. I shared a point of view, and the same speaker looked at me and asked, “So… what do you do at the bank?” The group chuckled. I smiled and said, “While I’m here, I support these leaders.” And I kept it moving.
I’m grateful I kept my cool.
Because far too often, people need you to be somebody before they treat you like you are somebody.
Did you catch that?
We are all somebody’s. Somebody’s child. Somebody’s mentor. Somebody’s hope. Somebody’s reason.
But let me be honest: after having a day to reflect, I asked myself—maybe this whole thing was just in my mind? Maybe she was simply in the zone. You know the kind. Speakers sometimes get hyper-focused before a presentation. I’ve been in that place too—where I’m mentally preparing, rehearsing, locked in. So maybe she wasn’t being dismissive. Maybe it wasn’t personal. And even if my assumptions were correct, I still made a choice: I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
And I kept my cool.
Later that night, I struck up a conversation with a woman who wasn’t even part of our event. I asked her about her hopes and dreams. She said, “I want to be an entrepreneur. I want to start something of my own.”
“What’s your biggest challenge?” I asked.
She looked me in the eye and said, “Being underestimated. Not being seen. Not being valued.”
And it took me right back to that earlier moment—that familiar ache.
Because the truth is, most of us just want to be seen.
Seen before we have a title.
Seen before we speak.
Seen before we prove ourselves.
And if we can learn to honor people before they become who we think they need to be, we’d all be better off.
So even when you encounter what feels like ignorance—or maybe it’s just distraction—you keep your cool.
You stay respectful.
You continue to honor the other person, even if you’re not sure they’re honoring you.
You process it.
You write about it.
You use it as fuel.
But you keep your cool.