When Janet called last month, her voice carried more than a hint of excitement. It was as if her emotion blurred her words. It reminded me of when we first met.
“By God, I’m doing it!” she said. “It’s all come together quickly—I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, and I need a bit of money. I’m going to Stockholm with a girlfriend from my building, and then to London. Oh, and you’ll be pleased, Cort’s coming too!”
I knew Janet was smiling because I was. She’s always been contagious—a warm cold you couldn’t help but catch. I wanted to immerse myself in her liveliness and connect with her emotion, but considering all she’d been through, I didn’t dare risk disrupting it.
“As soon as you’re back, I want to hear every detail,” I said. “Now, how much money do you need?”
Eighteen years earlier, not long after Janet and I met while buried in the recesses of the corporate world, I leapt from my box on the org chart and founded an investment advisory firm. In the middle of my one-room office, located in the detached garage behind my home, sat a conference table—barely big enough for four people. In the middle of the table, atop a three-inch pedestal, sat a crystal ball. Clients would settle into their chairs, gaze into the round abyss, and ask questions like “Are we due for a downturn?” or “Will there be a recession?” Once, a client in his 70s leaned forward with a troubled look, pretended to rub the ball, and asked, “Who will win the upcoming election?”
The crystal ball always sat there, reflecting our images, revealing nothing. We’d invariably chuckle as if we expected anything different.
I thought the crystal ball would be an ideal conversation starter—and it was. But what I failed to anticipate is that it elicited questions that were not only unanswerable but oriented the conversation in the wrong direction—to the outside. The right questions, ones that mattered most and ones that only clients could answer, were questions that tapped into intentions and aspirations that lived inside.
I’d reframe the questions: “What about a recession troubles you?” “Say more about a downturn – are you restless?” “What about the election, has you on edge?”
When clients wrestled with these questions, fears emerged. Worries poured out. “I’m scared. If there’s a recession and one of us is laid off, we won’t be able to afford the beach cottage we’re dreaming of.” “We’ve saved for our grandkid's education and are worried we might lose it all.” “I fear social security will be cut if the wrong person is elected.” When emotions were on the table, we were on the right track, for where there was a worry, there was a want—a longed-for wish. Hidden behind a fear? An envisioned future.
After clients had left the office, when the crystal ball reflected only my image, sometimes I’d wonder, if clients would wonder, if they’d hired the wrong advisor. Rather than offer opinions about recessions and downturns or who might occupy the Oval Office, which couldn’t reliably be predicted but could be planned for, I’d probe their insides to draw forth anxieties and apprehensions while drawing out one-of-a-kind futures. To empower clients with a tailored financial plan that lived outside, it needed to reflect a future alive on the inside.
I discovered you could glimpse the future, just not in a crystal ball, but in a human heart.
Today, the crystal ball sits on a coffee table inside the front door of our now nine-person firm. It still isn’t revealing when the Fed will lower rates or if Bitcoin will boom or go bust. We keep it around to remind us who we aren’t—presumptuous and arrogant—and what our business isn’t—focusing in the wrong direction and pretending to answer impossible questions.
A glass bowl now adorns the center of a conference table we’re proud of. Inside the glass bowl are 250 heart-shaped gemstones. Different sizes. Varied colors and unique markings. Beautifully polished. No two alike.
When clients sit down, the hearts catch their eye. “So lovely!” “Gorgeous!” “Where’d you find these?”
Last week, a client exclaimed, “These hearts are magnificent!” as she reached into the bowl and picked out several to examine.
“One of them,” I replied, “is yours.”
“You mean that I can have one?” she asked, unsure.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant that one of those hearts represents your heart.” I paused, then continued, “Tell me, what’s stirring inside it?”
She looked down at the hearts, put two back, and held on to a speckled blue one. Rubbing it with her thumb, she said, “You know my daughter, who I’ve been helping through nursing school? She’s now finished.”
“Of course. So terrific.” I said, “Congratulations.”
“Now she plans to apply to med school. If she gets in, I don’t want her saddled with loans. I’m happy for her, but I’m scared how much longer I’ll have to work to help her again. It’s eating at me.”
Wants and worries, a new future marbled with fears, two futures actually, her daughter’s and hers; we are on the right track, I thought.
“That’s a lot to carry around,” I said. “I appreciate your honesty and vulnerability. Let’s dig in and find you some peace of mind.”
After our meeting ended and I’d walked her out, I returned to the conference table. Next to the glass bowl was the speckled blue heart. I took note—that’s how the hearts get their names.
As I placed her heart, replete with its new future, back with the others, I reflected on all 250 hearts—the 241 representing our clients and the 9 representing us. I thought about being in the bowl together, rubbing against one another, touching each other, connections deepening through time, and how nourishing the relationships are. I thought about the futures living in the hearts and how dynamic they are. And how fragile they are. How they can change, often slowly, as we listen to that voice inside that guides us down paths previously unimagined and sometimes abruptly when the unexpected occurs.
As these thoughts swirled in my head, the beautiful, brown-striped heart lying on top, one of the biggest hearts in the bowl, grabbed my attention.
Janet’s heart.
I picked it up and held it. I flashed back to the email I received from her two years earlier:
Hi James,
I hope you are doing great. It’s been such a long time. Well, it’s been 1½ years since Cort died. I still struggle to accept that he is gone and I won’t see him again until I, too, die. OK, how’s that for an opening….good grief.
Before, my motivation for saving and investing was for Cort and me to enjoy our life together. Now, I just need to be smart (or not dumb). Well, all of this is to say that I guess it’s time I started taking some action with my finances. Can we connect sometime soon?
Love, Janet.
We set up a meeting. Janet made me promise that we’d get caught up after our twenty-year hiatus before moving into the crosscurrents of her life. As soon as we saw each other, we didn’t stand a chance. Janet’s lip began to quiver, I started to sob, and we turned into a puddle. After pulling ourselves together, Janet took me back to Cort’s three-year battle with esophageal cancer and then forward into what their old future no longer looked like—coffee shops in Paris they wouldn’t visit, landscapes in the South of France they wouldn’t experience, and Italian Chianti they wouldn’t taste. Her chosen future—stolen by a future that chose her. A future that, after a year and a half, was still unimaginable, still inaccessible, and still awaited her.
In that moment, I realized that while we carry the title of Investment Advisor on our business cards and touch clients with our financial acumen, who we are called to be often has nothing to do with money and everything to do with touching clients with ourselves—with our empathy, with our attention. And when intentions meet impermanence, with our continued presence by holding a heart to help illuminate an impossible-to-see future for as long as it takes.
“By God, I’m doing it…Cort’s coming too!” Janet’s words, blurred by emotion last week, now reverberated with clarity. Holding her big brown-striped heart in my hand, she touched me with her courage to step into a future she hadn’t signed up for and was willing to recreate. I looked forward to hearing every detail, including how Cort enjoyed Stockholm and London—from the vantage point of her heart.
I put Janet back in the bowl and reflected on how our glass bowl of hearts embodies the business we are in—empowering one-of-a-kind futures, especially as they change, and epitomizes who we are—heartfelt.
A second bowl—tiny and shaped like a fishbowl, sits in the corner of my desk. Inside are four hearts: one for my wife, one for each of my daughters, and one for me. Wonderous hearts. Maddening hearts. My most precious hearts.
On some days, when my energy is low from tending to the 250, I slip the four hearts into my pocket before leaving for home to remind me that these hearts matter most. They, too, need to be touched—with patience when helping with homework, with sacrifice when carpooling all over town, and with self-care by prioritizing slivers of solitude.
When I lie in the darkness behind my eyelids, long after I’ve stepped away from my vocation, stepped out of being a dad, and stepped back from being a spouse, more hearts inside me come alive. My brother and sisters. My mom and dad. Extended family. Friends – past and present. Work acquaintances and community connections. Joy-filled hearts. Aching hearts. Beating hearts and deceased hearts. The longer I lie awake, the more hearts there are—always too many to count.
And it occurs to me, aren't we ourselves a glass bowl full of hearts? And isn’t our opportunity to be heartfelt? To rub against these hearts. To touch and be touched. To nourish and be nourished. To hold and be held.
Who are your magnificent hearts?
Who are your most precious hearts?
Whose hearts fill the glass bowl of you?
End Notes: I could write a 5,000-word essay on the financial acumen we bring to bear for clients, but it might put most of you to sleep and make for a boring story. If you’d like to learn more, please reach out.
Our firm has five core values: Heartfelt, Relatable, Genuine, Service-oriented, and Committed-to-excellence. We personify each one.
If you’re reading this, your heart resides in the glass bowl of me, and I am grateful.
My goodness, your clients are lucky to have you.
James, this is a magnificent piece of writing. I can’t recall heart and financial advice being linked together so lovingly like this. It’s almost shocking in its wonderfulness. It’s not often people pour out their hearts so directly, so generously, with respect to business. Just… wow. Beautiful. Thank you for this.