I’ve been actually really enjoying this extreme honesty month.

I’ve been wondering: why did I not do this my entire life?!

Why do we dance around certain topics?

Why are we so afraid to really say the truth?

It’s amazing, when you’re 100% truthful and honest with people, they think you’re actually defending yourself, justifying things, or selling yourself.

It’s really amusing in a lot of ways.

I wanted to hang out with a friend the other night.  They couldn’t make it.

I said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sweeten the deal next time.”

She said, “What are you selling?”

I was like, “I’m not selling anything!  I like to sweeten the deals.  I enjoy doing things for people.  I enjoy hanging out with people, eating a good meal, whatever it might be.”

It was fun.

So instead, I had a client come over last night. He stayed late, and I looked at him and he seemed run down in so many ways.  He just didn’t have the zest, the pop, the energy that he always had.

And it’s because of his relationship.

So I looked him straight in his eyes and I said, “You need to end this for your health.” I went through a long synopsis of what I saw about him and how I was concerned. I gave it to him straight.

He kept saying that he hoped that his wife would change.

I told him that people don’t change. The only person that you can change is yourself. No one is going to change for us.

No relationship is going to miraculously get better.  No person is going to suddenly start to understand you.

We spend years hoping that people change. And they don’t.

Usually I would allow a client to engage me in the change conversation.  He would then tell me all the ways that his wife should change and can change and then I would listen to that and basically agree or rationalize with him, and say, “You know you’re right, give it another shot.”

But I felt like he was wasting time. I looked at him from a health point of view and I saw how stressed out he was—it wasn’t good. I told him that he needed to be honest with himself and make a decision, even if tough.

We’ll see how that goes.

Yesterday, I had a guy come to see a car that I’m selling for a friend.  He offered a ridiculously low number—$2,000 less than the asking price, and the care was already priced really well.

He then went into a whole sob story about his daughter’s birthday and how he needed to spend $500 on his daughter’s birthday, otherwise he’d be in trouble with his ex-wife.

I listened to him. I did.

And then I looked at him and said, “I don’t care. I’m not paying for your daughter’s birthday.  My friend deserves the money for his car. That’s fair to him, right?”

“All I’ve got is $14,000.”

“You shouldn’t have come over with just $14,000, you should have brought $16,000.”

I then paused for effect.

“Your final offer is 14? My friends wants 16. But I’ll tell you what: I’ll meet you halfway, plus 10%, for a final total of $14,800. My friend would be okay with that offer.”

“No, I can only do 14 because of my daughter’s birthday party.”

“Well, then go find another car.  Time is money.  You can run all around town, looking at different cars to try and hopefully find one that’s priced this low with this much work done, or you can spend the money because I know you have it.  Nobody just has 14.”

He just looked at me, hopeful.

“I hope your daughter enjoys her party.  But it’s not my friend’s job to pay for it. See ya.”

Later that day, he texted me:

All I’ve got is 14. Are you sure?

I sent him the same text back:

The number doesn’t change.  Good luck.  

And it felt good.

It feels so good to look at people and call them out.

It feels good to tell people exactly how you feel and not worry about being in your head.

And it’s fun to watch everyone’s reaction.