Growing up, my mother had a friend named Olga.
As far as I was concerned, she knew everyone.
If you needed a car, you called Olga. If you were looking for a rescue dog, you called Olga. If your teenager needed a therapist, you called Olga. If you needed an architect, a contractor, a restaurant recommendation or a plumber, you called Olga. It didn’t matter what the question was. Somehow, Olga either had the answer or knew the person who did.
Years later, Olga became a real estate agent. It was her second career. She went on to make millions.
For a long time, I assumed her success came from having an extraordinary network. Looking back, I don’t think that’s what happened at all. I think she’d spent years becoming the person people instinctively called when they had a question. By the time she got her real estate license, people already trusted her judgment. Real estate was simply the next problem they invited her to help solve.
I’ve been thinking about Olga a lot lately because I’ve started noticing something similar in my own business.
Tomorrow, I’m meeting with two independent filmmakers who want coaching. I know almost nothing about independent filmmaking. Ten years ago, that would have made me feel completely unqualified. I would have assumed I needed to understand every nuance of their world before I had anything valuable to offer.
Somewhere along the way, though, I realized I’d been learning the wrong lesson from Olga. I thought her gift was that she knew everyone. Now I think her gift was that she never stopped being interested in people.
That shifted something for me.
When I sit down with a founder, a brokerage owner, a filmmaker or a real estate agent, I’m not trying to prove how much I know about their industry. I’m trying to understand how they think. I’m listening for patterns. I’m following threads. I’m asking questions they haven’t considered. Whether I’m talking to someone in real estate, film or technology, I keep discovering the same thing.
The industry changes.
Human nature doesn’t.
Curiosity travels remarkably well.
It helps you coach a filmmaker without knowing how to make a movie. It helps you understand a founder without having built their company. It helps you become useful in rooms where, on paper, you have no business being. The more curious I’ve become, the less pressure I’ve felt to have all the answers. Questions have a funny way of opening doors that expertise alone often can’t.
Looking back, I don’t think Olga built a remarkable network. I think she built a remarkable habit.
She paid attention.
She remembered.
She stayed curious.
The network was simply the byproduct.
The more I’ve reflected on it, the more convinced I’ve become that this is true of almost every person I admire professionally. They aren’t memorable because they’re constantly trying to sound impressive. They’re memorable because they leave every conversation knowing something they didn’t know before. Their curiosity compounds over time. One conversation leads to another. One introduction leads to another. Eventually, people stop thinking of them as someone with a good network.
They become the person you call.
And maybe that’s the lesson Olga had been teaching me all along.
Maybe the goal isn’t to be the most interesting person in the room.
Maybe it’s to be the most interested.
Coaching Corner
This week, try replacing one instinct.
Instead of thinking about what you’re going to say next, get curious.
Ask one more question.
Follow one more thread.
Leave the conversation understanding something you didn’t know when you sat down.
You might be surprised how often the most valuable person in the room isn’t the one with the best answers.
It’s the one asking the best questions.
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