Having spent most of my work life in Human Resources, I can tell you perception is a tough foe. However, in this case, perceptions—or should I say misperceptions—provided me with a quick and easy entrance into an exclusive group.
Calling New Zealand
In Did You Know You’re A Pebble?, I mentioned making phone calls to New Zealand (N.Z.). I made them because, after hearing N.Z.’s top male country singer, I had the crazy idea to send him songs my partners and I had written.
I started by trying to contact the singer’s agent. An expensive mistake since the man no longer had that N.Z. phone number. (Instead of dealing with his agent, I ended up speaking with someone at a Ford Motor plant.)
Next, I called his label, CBS Records N.Z., and spoke with a very nice man. After I explained I wanted to send the singer some original songs, he gave me the label’s address, then asked if I wanted the singer’s office phone number. Excuse me? No one at a record company in the States would ever have suggested such a thing.
I didn’t look that gift horse in the mouth. I accepted the number and immediately placed a third call to N.Z. While I didn’t speak to the singer, I did talk to his business partner—whom I later learned was N.Z.’s top country instrumentalist! The man sounded as excited to talk to me as I was to talk to him. (Turned out he’d performed with the singer when I saw him in Austin.)
Once again, I went through my spiel of who I was and why I was calling. He, too, urged me to send them our songs. Then he gave me the name and phone number of the woman in Texas who was scheduling their upcoming tour.
Texas Phone Call
The call to my fellow Texan was, thankfully, much less expensive than my N.Z. calls. When she answered, I introduced myself and told her who’d given me her name and number. I explained again about seeing the guys perform in Austin, and how I’d been told she could give me specifics of when they were coming back to Texas and where they’d be.
We spoke several times over the following months, as I eagerly waited for them to nail down the trip’s date and itinerary. Finally, the big night arrived, and my songwriting buddies and I crashed the New Zealander’s Houston performance for travel professionals.
I look back now and am amazed at my actions. Though some might not believe it, I’m normally an introvert, and back then I was especially shy in large groups and with strangers. Maybe it was having my co-writers with me. Maybe it was because my contact had given me “permission” to attend. Whatever the reason, I fearlessly waltzed in and made new friends, an action that has changed the lives of multiple people on both sides of the Pacific.
The Perception
If you think my acceptance into the N.Z. group sounds too easy to be true, you aren’t the only one. When it happened, I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Not that I thought about it too long because, within a few days, we really were the best of friends. It was only years later I learned there was a reason for their unexpected and warm welcome.
It started with my call to their Texas contact. She somehow got the idea I was the male singer’s special friend. (Although that belief died soon after their arrival. He’d brought his wife with him and when the tour was canceled, they flew off to Washington State to visit his sister.) But, while it lasted, her perception of us as a couple prompted her to give me information she wouldn’t normally have given a stranger.
The New Zealanders, on the other hand, believed I was a close friend of the lady handling the tour. They didn’t want to offend her, so did their best to make me feel welcome. This perception had them dropping their guard and accepting my presence, giving us time to become real friends.
The Lessons
We all laugh about the misperceptions that started our friendship. But just because it’s a funny story doesn’t mean there aren’t serious lessons to take away. First, always be open to new opportunities and friends. You never know when or where they’ll appear. More importantly, don’t stop going after what you want. The songs we wrote were never recorded, but if I hadn’t kept pushing toward that end, I wouldn’t have connected with our N.Z. friends. And as one commercial would have put it . . . Friends who become family: Priceless.