This week I got a “no.”
A big conference I was slated to speak at called to say they couldn’t afford my fee.
And I felt it. Not just professionally. Personally.
Because here’s the tension no one talks about when your work is your message.
On one hand, I never want money to get in the way of impact. I consider what I do an act of service. I stand on stages and tell women to fight the voice that says they’re not enough. I challenge leaders to take up space. I tell people to stop playing small.
On the other hand, this is my job.
I don’t just show up and wing it. I study the audience. I tailor the content. I pore over research. I rehearse. I refine. I do the reps. I get on planes. I sleep in hotels. I navigate delays, cancellations, rental car counters, and jet lag. I am away from my home and my wife for three days at a time. That matters. I have earned the right to be compensated for my work.
So when someone asks me to deliver a keynote for free, I have to ask myself a hard question.
How would they feel if their boss said they wouldn’t be getting paid anymore?
And here’s the deeper conflict. I am represented by professional speaker bureaus who book me at a certain rate. There is integrity in honoring that rate. There is professionalism in not undercutting the value of your own work. If I discount myself for one organization, what does that say to the next one who paid full fee? What does that signal to the bureaus who trust me with their reputation?
Still, I found myself drafting the email: “I’m so sorry…”
Sorry for what?
For having a profession?
For valuing my time?
For believing my message has worth?
And then came the spiral. Am I being unreasonable? Am I being selfish for wanting to get paid? Is my speaking career drying up? I have told myself that story every single year. And every single year, I have been wrong.
While I was in that swirl, my computer pinged.
An email. A conference I’d been vetted for wanted to book me. A small negotiation. A perfect fit.
Ping.
Another inquiry through my website. “We’d love to set up a Zoom to chat about you speaking at our event.”
And I looked down at the Post-it note on my desk with a line from Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey:
“I have a lot of proof that the world is conspiring to make me happy.”
These words resonate with me because it requires a decision. You have to look for the proof.
It is far easier to catalog what went wrong.
Lately, I’ve had reasons to.
I lost a friend I miss deeply. I know it was the right boundary, but grief doesn’t care about logic. My daughter is deployed overseas, and this is the longest I’ve ever gone without hugging her. It hurts in a way that feels physical. I’ve received several “no’s” for speaking engagements that went to other speakers. Each one felt like a small referendum on my relevance.
I could build a case for doom if I wanted to.
But then I look at the greenlights.
In the last four days alone:
I was asked to speak on a panel at the University Club of Chicago alongside minds that intimidated me. I felt imposter syndrome creep in, that old whisper of “What are you doing here?” But I also realized how much I had to contribute. The audience was affirming. I walked out knowing I made an impact.
My flights were seamless. No delays. No lines. It felt like the sea parted at every turn, even at the rental car counter. I walked into my 42nd-floor condo, and the view took my breath away.
I had dinner with a friend whose new job now brings him to Chicago. We were long-distance friends. Now we won’t be.
I drove to the suburbs for coffee with one friend, then met another for lunch. I trekked to see my favorite one-year-old and read him a book. My son-in-law made me an incredible dinner.
I coached a badass woman navigating challenges in her organization. She is going to change that place, and I get a front-row seat.
A package I needed arrived exactly when I needed it.
My favorite health food store is steps from my condo. I can walk outside and get what fuels me.
And when I land back in Naples, one of my favorite people in the world and his wife will be there waiting to visit.
This is the stuff that makes up a wonderful life.
And yet I nearly let a few no’s define the narrative.
We are wired for threat detection. Our brains are more sensitive to loss than to gain. A single rejection can feel heavier than ten affirmations. Daniel Kahneman’s work on loss aversion shows we experience losses as roughly twice as powerful as equivalent gains. Twice. No wonder one canceled contract can eclipse a full calendar.
But here’s what I’m learning.
You can honor your worth and still operate from gratitude.
You can say no with integrity and still believe the world is conspiring in your favor.
You can miss someone, ache for someone, grieve something, and still recognize that so much is going right.
Every morning when I get out of bed, I put one foot on the ground and say “thank,” and the other foot down and say “you.” It sounds simple. It is simple. But it forces my brain to scan for evidence of goodness instead of scanning for threat.
Most people keep journals of their hardest thoughts. Their battles. Their pain.
I’ve started keeping a different kind of journal.
It’s a running list of proof that the world is conspiring to make me happy.
I started it in January, and it’s ridiculous how much I overlooked before. We miss the smooth flight. The affirming email. The friend who shows up. The body that carries us. The roof over our heads. The work that stretches us.
We fixate on the one thing that didn’t work. That’s what our brains are wired to do. The single rejection becomes louder than the ten affirmations. The closed door echoes more than the open ones. And if we’re not careful, we let that one data point start narrating the entire story of our lives.
So let me gently turn this toward you.
Where in your life are you discounting what’s right because something went wrong? Where are you apologizing for taking up space? Where are you quietly shrinking your value because you’re afraid someone might think you’re too much?
I’m not suggesting you ignore real pain or real injustice. I’m not asking you to pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. I’m suggesting you widen the lens. If something big is breaking in your life, look for the small mercies alongside it. The greenlights. The proof. Write them down if you have to. Train your brain to see what is working, not just what isn’t.
Because you will always find what you are looking for. If you are scanning for proof that you are failing, you will find it. If you are scanning for proof that you are supported, loved, and guided forward, you will find that too.
I almost let one conference’s budget dictate my belief in my own worth. I almost let one no define the season. Instead, I’m choosing to look at the bigger pattern — the bookings that landed, the friendships that deepened, the seamless travel, the laughter, the impact, the love waiting at home.
The world is not against me. It is, in many quiet ways, conspiring to make me happy. And I have a lot of proof.
And you do too.
The only decision left is whether you will let the setbacks narrate your life, or whether you will look for the evidence that you are far more supported than you think.
The proof is already there.
