The most interesting things I’ve ever done — the best conversations, the best podcasts, the best calls — they all required me to be confident enough to move forward, when the results were far from certain. Today I’m going to tell you something I just learned that can get that confidence up when you need it most.

I’ve been selling used machine tools for 15 years in my family’s 80-year-old business. And I still get anxious when strangers ask me what I do. Most people don’t know what a machine tool is, let alone a screw machine. And honestly — there are probably moments where I feel insecure about working with my dad.

Several years ago, I started using what I call serendipity hooks when I introduce myself — loading my intro with enough different things that something will connect. I’ll say: “I sell used machine tools, but I also host a podcast, and I’m building a YouTube channel about serendipity — which doesn’t leave me much time, because I’ve also got a 4-year-old son who’s amazing.” Something in that list usually lands. But even with that trick, it really bothers me that the first thing on the list, selling machinery, the way I pay my mortgage, my family’s legacy, still doesn’t always come out confidently.

And I think a lot of you know this feeling — maybe you work in a machine shop and other people don’t get it right away when you tell them you’re a setup person or a machinist. You consider yourself a confident person. But that one simple question — what do you do? — still trips you up.
Two weeks ago at the Precision Machined Products Association Management Update conference, the first speaker is a guy named Ryan Avery. His talk is supposed to be about leadership — a topic I know is a weakness of mine, so I’m intrigued, if also a little daunted.

Ryan grabs everyone from the get-go. He comes off the stage, walks right into the audience, and tells us we’re going to do an exercise about confidence — and he needs a volunteer. I figure: if there’s ever a moment to work on my confidence, this is it. I raise my hand. Suddenly I’m up on stage. The exercise is simple. Ryan asks me to introduce myself to the audience twice. First while stepping backwards. Then while stepping forwards.

Now, the PMPA conference is probably the easiest room in the world for me to do this — these are my people. But I want to make it a real test, so I decide to include the serendipity channel in my intro — something many of them might find strange, but hopefully intriguing.

First try, stepping back: “Hi, I’m Noah Graff, I sell used machine tools, I host a podcast, and something about serendipity…” The words are fine. The delivery is so so. I know I can do better.
Second try, I step forward. “My name is Noah. I sell used machine tools. And I’m passionate about serendipity.”

They’re the same words, more or less. But stepping forward flips something in my brain. There’s actually research behind this — psychologists call it embodied cognition. When you physically move toward something, it activates what they call an “approach mindset.” Your body tells your brain: we’re going in — you can do it.
It reminds me of learning to play tennis. Stepping into the ball — not hitting off your back foot — doesn’t just work mechanically. I think about my favorite shot. 2-handed backhand down the line, moving into the ball with authority. It just feels perfect.

The rest of the conference, people keep coming up to me — other attendees, even some of the other presenters — wanting to talk. We end up having some good conversations about AI tools, hiring, all kinds of things. Of course, I still have many flashes of insecurity throughout the weekend.

That night I go salsa dancing in Charlotte. There are some decent dancers, but nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ve been dancing even longer than I’ve been selling machines. I’ve shaken it all over the world while doing business. Tokyo, Krakow, Rio, Grand Rapids. I’m confident and it’s an adventure.

With dancing it’s hard to know how things are going to go. The experience of dancing with one person can give me such a high. It can be so fun. Then I dance with the next person, who looked like they would be a good dancer, but they give me bad vibes. They don’t smile, we’re not in sync, I start worrying that they’re bored. I can’t wait for that song to end.

It’s the same that night in Charlotte as it was in Barcelona and Berlin and Bangkok.
But the uncertainty is worth it — dancing with someone new, calling a customer you don’t know, sharing a new idea with a room full of people. You step forward anyway. Because certainty and confidence are not the same thing.