🌹Stolen roses and a poem...

I recently celebrated my birthday with family and friends at a beautiful wine farm my sister chose.

The tables were nestled under the branches of ancient oak trees, with vineyards stretching toward the distant mountains.

I enjoy visiting wine farms—the rolling hills, the trees, the peaceful atmosphere—even though I’m not much of a wine drinker.

This particular day was warm and inviting, filled with relaxation and connection.

After a delicious meal, my family asked who would make a speech.

My mom usually steps up, but this time, my dad decided to share a story.

My dad speaks softly, his words flowing gently like a meandering river.

But when the mood strikes, he’s a great storyteller.

That day, he told the story of when I was born—how, on his way to the hospital, he "harvested" roses from the hospital garden to bring to my mom and me.

At the time, my parents didn’t have much—just enough to get by.

My mom says it was an act of rebellion, and that the whole ward knew exactly where the roses came from since she had a clear view of the garden!

He also recalled sneaking in through the back entrance to avoid the nurses, who kept asking for the baby's name.

Apparently, there was a rule that babies had to be registered within 24 hours, but my parents hadn’t decided yet.

So, my dad kept slipping in unnoticed.

Eventually, they named me after a poem by Edgar Allan Poe—The Raven—"the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore."

As my dad came to this part of the tale, my brother and sister started reciting lines from the poem, with my parents chiming in with laughter.

I could feel all of their love and it warmed my heart.

My second name turned out to be Rosa, though not after the roses my dad brought my mom.

That’s a story for another time.

Even now, my dad keeps up his tradition of garden roses.

Last year, when my mom was in the hospital for a minor procedure, he brought her a single rose—this time from their own garden.

I treasure these moments with my loved ones - family and friends.

These are the things that make life precious.

And it reminds me of something important:

Are you sharing your stories?

Even if your voice isn’t the loudest, your stories deserve to be heard.

You have something unique to offer—don’t let the world miss out.

Three Business Lessons from This Story:

1. Your story connects you to your audience.
Just as my dad’s storytelling brought my family together, sharing your own journey builds a deeper connection with your clients. People relate to authenticity and vulnerability. Whether in your marketing or conversations, don’t be afraid to let your audience see the real you.

2. Small, heartfelt gestures leave a lasting impact.
My dad’s tradition of giving my mom garden roses has meant more than any store-bought bouquet ever could. In business, the smallest personal touches—remembering a client’s birthday, sending a handwritten note—can make all the difference. Thoughtfulness sets you apart.

3. Don’t wait for the “perfect” time—take action.
My parents didn’t wait until they had everything figured out to name me. They took their time, but they kept moving forward. Similarly, in business, don’t get stuck waiting for everything to be perfect. Start sharing your message, make the offer, and refine as you go.

Let this be the year your voice is heard

Lenore