I'm back from my whirlwind trip to NYC, and am busy getting prepared for my next trip on Friday -- I'll be leaving to speak at Brené Brown's Rising Strong Day, an entire day sponsored by Oprah and celebrating the release of Brené's brand new book, Rising Strong (which, in my humble opinion and if you're familiar with Brené's work, is her best one yet). Needless to say, I'm incredibly excited ... and also a bit overwhelmed with everything I have to do before I go!
But I wanted to pop in and share a quick story: when I arrived in New York on Sunday evening, I checked into my hotel, got settled, and realized I had about an hour to myself before I was scheduled to meet with my friend for dinner. Because I'd done quite a bit of work on the 3-1/2 hour flight over, I thought I'd treat myself to a glass of prosecco. So I grabbed my book and went down to the lobby to ask where the hotel bar was.
Once I found the bar, I walked in and discovered it was empty, save for a young, tall, impeccably-dressed man standing behind the host booth. He immediately looked up with a huge smile.
"Can I help you?"
"Actually, I just wanted a glass of prosecco. But it doesn't look like you're open ..."
"Nooo, unfortunately we're not ... we open at 4." It was 3:50 p.m. "You're welcome to wait if you'd like, but the bartender isn't here yet. He should be here shortly, though ..."
"Oh. Well, I honestly don't want to put you out. If you're not open, I can just go back to the lobby with my book."
"Don't be silly!" he laughed. "Of course you can come in. Can I get you some water? I'm not a bartender, and I don't really drink much, so I can't help you, but I'm happy to get you some water while you wait. Just make yourself comfortable!"
I smiled. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Have a seat."
I declined his offer of water, not wanting to make him work, since technically the bar wasn't open. I climbed up on a bar stool, opened my book, and got lost in the pages.
After about 20 minutes, a champagne flute magically appeared on the bar next to me, and someone was pouring. It was the same host.
"I have no idea where the bartender is -- I think he's been called away. I'm so sorry. So I found the bottle of prosecco. This one's on me."
I was so moved by his indulgence, and we struck up a conversation. His name is Courtenay, and when he's not charming the pants off of pushy bar patrons, he's a fashion blogger.
Man, I love kind people. So I just thought he was someone you should know.