Oggi e’ il giorno dell’orgoglio Italiano, e sono orgoglioso di essere Italiano!

I remember going to my grandmother's when I was a kid.  Specifically, hot summer days when, in vivid detail, I can recall peeling my bare legs off of her couch.  Sometimes, she'd give me an ice cream but only sitting at the kitchen table with what felt like a barber's cape wrapped around my neck to protect my clothes and her chair.

Grandma had plastic runners covering the carpet anywhere one could walk. The rug was lovely, but I only saw small islands where the plastic runners crossed over and left a puffy space. The same goes for the couch. I'm sure Grandma saw it in the store and fell in love with the feel of the fabric and the beautiful pattern and colors. And that's the last time she ever saw or felt it. Once in her living room, it was encased in plastic slipcovers.

I can't fault her.  She lived through the depression and raised three kids in its aftermath, alone right after her husband (their sole provider) died at the tender age of 32.

Money was hard to come by, and Grandma would make anything she had last as long as possible.

Still, it's sad that she never saw the vivid colors of that sofa or felt the soft piles of carpet under her bare feet. I can't say what she did wasn't smart, but was it good?

It's the same with vulnerability and trust in people. Going through life with plastic slipcovers over your emotional furniture will keep spills, stains, and rips from happening. Still, you will never enjoy the unabashed goodness of tanned little legs sitting comfortably upon you with an ice cream cone and a smile.

It's like that in all areas of life. Keeping the plastic on the furniture is safe, but whoever achieved anything significant by playing it safe? (OK, maybe the person who invented airbags)

Seriously, though, take your shot. Go ahead and invite that crush you've been too shy to speak to for coffee or dinner.

Ask for a promotion or a raise. Assume the close and ask for the business from that considerable account. If not you, then who? 

Take the plastic off and get rejected. In my mind, there is nothing worse than wondering, "What if?" The pain of rejection is temporary.  The pain of regret tends to hang on and revisit, uninvited, at the worst times.

The last thing I want to see on my tombstone is "Here lies Frank Somma; he lived life at a low flame and, uneventfully…died."

Own Your Sales Gene…