The Yes Is Often Waiting Behind One Simple Move

I have believed this for a long time: you already have a no. A no is easy to collect. You can get it from silence, from hesitation, from the wrong inbox, from someone who does not have the authority, the budget, or the courage to decide. The yes is different. The yes is usually sitting behind the one thing most people refuse to do: ask. Not “ask around,” not “hint,” not “soft launch the request,” but ask the right person, directly, calmly, and without turning it into a political performance.

Ask the right person, clearly, and without apology

That is where things stall. We hesitate, we overthink, we polish the wording into something harmless, and then we go looking for help from people who cannot actually help us. We do it because it feels safer. Asking the wrong person protects you from the one risk that matters: being seen. Real asking exposes you. Real asking creates a moment where someone can say yes or no, and where you have to handle the outcome like an adult.

Courage is rarely loud, it is just honest

I did not learn this from a book or a boardroom. I learned it from a young cleaning lady, barely twenty, who stood in front of me one evening, looked me in the eye, and said, “Ben, I need to talk to you. Now.” No warming up, no apologizing for existing, no “when you have a moment.” Just clarity, delivered with a steady nervous system.

At that time in my life, I was not just busy. I was running a full circus act. I woke up at six, showered, dressed, and ate breakfast as if multitasking was a religion. By seven I had already cleared half my inbox, and by nine I was deep in back to back meetings, jumping from one Zoom room to the next, from one whiteboard to the next bright idea, until the day blurred into early evening. Then came client dinners, late brainstorms, and deadlines that chased me like they had my name tattooed on them.

Around ten at night I would stumble back home. Technically, I had a wife. Occasionally we even spoke. If the stars aligned, we might have dinner together, and I would pretend I was still a human being and not a walking calendar. I would not recommend that lifestyle to anyone, not even to my past self.

The moment she cut through the hierarchy

It was a life stacked with overlapping calendars and parallel conversations. Sometimes I had three people waiting outside my office at once, lined up for different meetings, as if I could download myself into separate dimensions. My door was always open, but even then I could only deal with one crisis at a time.

That evening, around six thirty, I stepped out of my office ready to dive into the next round of damage control, when I saw her. The new cleaning lady. She had started maybe a week ago, twenty or twenty one, and she was not standing there by accident. The moment she saw me, she stepped forward and said, in a firm and unwavering tone, “Hey Ben, I need to talk to you. Right now.”

For a moment I honestly thought I misheard her. In a company where people waited days just to get five minutes on my calendar, this brand new employee had the boldness to walk straight to the front of the line. I smiled and said, “Well, this must be urgent. Let’s hear it.”

We sat down.

It was never about the gloves

Her problem was simple. There were not enough cleaning cloths and gloves in the supply closet. She could not properly do her job, and she needed me to fix it.

At that moment, my brain tried to remind me that we had a ridiculous amount of deadlines, a large team, and clients whose names made meetings feel important. We had fires to put out, systems to fix, contracts to close, and a thousand things that looked more impressive than cleaning supplies. And still, I listened.

Not because gloves mattered more than deals, but because this young woman reminded me of something I had started to forget. She did not follow “the rules.” She did not wait her turn. She did not play corporate chess. She made what she did matter, and she made herself matter, without arrogance and without drama.

That kind of clarity earns respect. Not because she had a title, but because she had standards. Sometimes standards speak louder than hierarchy.

Most people ask sideways, then call it strategy

What really happened in that moment was not about cloths. It was about the courage to ask. She did not look at my title and shrink. She did not measure my schedule and decide her problem was too small. She did not tell herself a story about how I was too busy, too important, too far removed. She simply asked for what she needed, from the person who could actually change it.

That is what I wish I saw more often. People waste years asking sideways. They seek permission from peers who cannot grant it. They send careful messages to people who cannot decide. They over explain, over justify, and then they call it professionalism, while the real truth is simpler: they are afraid of being told no by the one person who might also say yes.

If you want momentum, you have to stop outsourcing your courage.

The “important people” myth

We tend to imagine important people as distant and unreachable, guarded by gatekeepers and locked doors. The truth is far less dramatic. Most people, even the so called important ones, are just human beings who respond to clarity and sincerity. I once read something attributed to Steve Jobs that stuck with me, and I will paraphrase it because the spirit matters more than the quote. He said he often responded to strangers who reached out, because it takes guts to ask, and that alone deserved a reply.

That rings true. Not because the world is always fair, but because courage is rare, and rare things get noticed. A clean request cuts through the noise. It makes it easy to help you, or to decline you, without confusion.

The boy at the reception desk

This reminds me of a kid, fifteen or sixteen, who once showed up at our office door without an appointment. No introduction, no networking, no staged confidence, just a big smile and one question to the receptionist: “Can I speak to the director?”

Now, this was a time when even friends could get turned away if they did not call me directly. The receptionist was usually the fortress, polite but firm. Unless your name was on the list, you were not getting through. But this kid had something else. A lightness. Not pushy, not entitled, just real. Curious. Slightly naive in the best way.

Next thing I knew he was standing at my desk, hands folded, eyes wide with excitement. He said, “I have this idea.” He wanted to cycle around local farms with a cargo bike, pick up fresh fruit, vegetables, and sandwiches, and deliver them to companies for lunch. He explained the model in two minutes. He had the route mapped out, the pitch rehearsed, and the enthusiasm fully switched on.

There was only one problem. He did not have the bike.

Five hours later, he was posing proudly next to a brand new cargo bike, beaming like he had won the lottery. The idea itself never really took off, at least not in a way that I saw. Maybe the logistics were too hard, maybe timing was wrong, maybe he pivoted to something else. But the outcome was not the point.

The point was the posture. He did not wait to be perfect. He did not wait until every detail was nailed down. He did not waste time wondering if he would be taken seriously. He showed up, asked cleanly, and gave the world a chance to respond.

The real skill is not asking, it is asking clean

Most people think they cannot ask because they are not confident enough. That is not the real issue. The real issue is that they turn asking into a performance. They add ten paragraphs of context to avoid feeling needy. They apologize in advance. They soften the edges until the request becomes a fog. Then, when nothing happens, they call it proof that the world does not support them.

It is not proof. It is just unclear communication.

A clean ask has three parts: what you need, why it matters, and what you want the other person to do next. It is specific, respectful, and brief. It does not beg. It does not manipulate. It does not try to control the answer. It simply makes a yes possible.

And yes, you might get a no. You already have that no anyway. At least now you get reality, not limbo.

Why the yes is waiting

Here is the quiet truth. Many opportunities are not locked behind talent. They are locked behind reluctance. Behind the fear of taking up space. Behind the fear of bothering someone. Behind the fear of being judged for wanting something. Behind the fear of hearing no and having to stay standing.

That is why the young cleaning lady impressed me. Not because she demanded anything, but because she trusted her own standard enough to speak. That trust is a mirror. When someone looks you in the eye and asks you clearly, you often want to show up, not because you are forced, but because you are invited into something real.

So if you are stuck right now, ask yourself one simple question. Who is the actual source for what I need, and what would a clean, calm request sound like if I stopped negotiating with my fear?

Then do it. Ask.

Not dramatically. Not desperately. Just honestly.