I'm So Glad My Dad Messaged That Stranger On Linkedin 🗽

this is a story about what happens when you take a chance and send 👏 the 👏 message 👏

In this week’s post, I share a story about what happened when my dad sent a message to a stranger on LinkedIn.

Long story short: Something kind of amazing.

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Hi, this is Bella from Making Time. Recently, I’ve shared my life-changing morning routine, 10 tips to help you bounce back from Google’s latest algorithm update and why I hate 30 Under 30 lists.

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The summer I graduated from university was a sad one.

Not because I’d come to the end of “the best years of my life”, but because of a particular situation that began in May and didn’t resolve itself until December.

It didn’t help that I had absolutely no idea what to do now that the guardrails of institutional education were well and truly off. All I knew (/dreamed about) was that I’d very much like to live in New York one day. So, unable to concentrate on much else, I decided I’d email British people who’d ended up in the Big Apple to find out how on earth they’d done it.

One of those people was the (now extremely successful) photographer, Lucy Laucht.

I used to follow her when she had a blog and worked for J. Crew in Manhattan. I thought she was the coolest, so I sent her an email.

I never imagined she’d respond. But to my total delight, she did. And she was so kind, so motivating to a total stranger. She really made me believe that trying something as mad as moving to New York without a visa or a job wasn’t a completely stupid idea.

I carried on my research.

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A few days later, Dad forwards me a LinkedIn message he’s received from someone he’s never met: an Englishman in New York. He works in finance. He’s relatively well-known. He has a beautiful wife, gorgeous kids. He lives in the West Village. He knows everyone.

Reader: When I tell you that I was about to embark on the most bonkers three months of my life…

But before we get there—how did my Dad get this message in the first place??

This is how.

P.S. Prepare for things to get random.

The photo that started it

Dad and I have always loved New York. It’s a place we talk about wistfully, a place we’ve been lucky enough to visit together on multiple occasions.

He knew how much I’d love to live and work there, but we didn’t know anyone in the city—not a single soul among nearly 8.5 million residents—who might be able to help.

Then one day he was browsing Pinterest… or maybe it wasn’t Pinterest. Maybe it was Google images and he ended up on Pinterest. That’s probably more likely.

What was he browsing? Photos of the Île de Ré, a beautiful island off the west coast of France. A place he and my mum adore.

As he was scrolling through scenic shots, he came across a photo of a woman standing in the harbor of one of the islands. The photo was blurry, the lighting was poor, but her chicness was undeniable (if a little fuzzy).

Dad Googled the name beside the image.

If there’s one thing you should know about my Dad, it’s that he is a master internet sleuth. Plus, he really loves a rabbit hole. Getting lost down those is his preferred pastime.

Upon Googling her name, he realised she was a Brit, married to another Brit, living in New York.

He looked up her husband on LinkedIn.

Then, he tried his luck.

Sending the message

Here’s what Dad wrote:

Not long after he pressed send, the recipient responded, asking that I send him an email with my C.V.

Dad and I poured over that email.

How to express enthusiasm without sounding desperate? How to be sincere and not sycophantic?

Several drafts later (mentioning my love of the city, my willingness to do any work necessary—“whether it be cleaning, data entry or organising social events”—and my gratitude for his time and consideration when there was, of course, the very real issue of a lack of work permit), I hit send.

An hour later, he replied.

What happened next

A few weeks later, I met the Englishman and his wife at the hotel they were staying at in Kensington.

May I remind you—I was a virtual stranger to this man. Besides a few emails, he knew absolutely nothing about me (!!).

I sipped coffee while they ate their breakfast and told me how they ended up in New York in the 90s. He went there for work. She went there on holiday, fell in love with the city, then travelled backwards and forwards until she found a job in fashion willing to sponsor her visa.

It was the first time I’d heard the word ‘hustle’.

The Englishman said that the only way to make it in New York was to do exactly that. To hustle. “But the good news,” he added, “is that successful people in New York are much more willing to share a contact, to have a conversation, than successful people in London.”

And with that, he began to read aloud the names of people he would put me in touch with as soon as my flight landed in New York City.

When was that again?

Flying to New York

At the beginning of October, I arrived in New York.

How long I was going to be there and what exactly I was going to be doing, I had no idea. And weirdly, I was fine about it. I had (just) enough money saved up from part-time jobs to last me until December if I didn’t find any cash-in-hand work and stuck to a stringent budget.

I was sad and hopeful and excited and a little bit terrified. But I was also 22 years old and figured that’s how everyone new to the city is supposed to feel.

I moved into a room I found on Airbnb in a lovely apartment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. The guy living there was a journalist, Eli, who covered crime for the New York Star.

And then, a few days into my trip, the Englishman began CC-ing me into emails with—after a quick Google—some very successful (borderline celebrity) individuals.

I met all kinds of amazing people. Most of them told me that without a work permit already, they couldn’t help. Some told me that there were no openings right now, but to stay in touch. One lady said she had no idea if she could sponsor me, but that if I wanted to stay busy and earn a bit of cash as her assistant, I could. So I did.

The corner of my Bed-Stuy apartment

Thanksgiving with music royalty

For the next 2.5 months I worked as an assistant to a jewellery designer who just so happened to be the mother of a famous musician.

She was lovely and eccentric and her two-floor West Village apartment was the stuff of Nora Ephron movies. I worked for several hours each day. She hosted parties. I met her friends. And when Thanksgiving rolled around, she invited me along as the only guest to an intimate dinner with her kids and her ex-husband (now, wonderfully, her husband again).

It was… completely insane. When I told Eli what I was doing and with whom, he couldn’t believe it.

Neither could I.

There’s no better place than New York at Christmas

A small token

A few days before my flight back to London (and my ESTA expiration date), I bought the Englishman a bottle of the best red wine I could afford as a small gesture of gratitude for everything he’d done for me.

For the doors he’d opened. For the contacts he’d shared. For the kindness he’d shown a complete stranger, which I still have trouble wrapping my head around.

There was nothing in it for him. He didn’t know my Dad. He didn’t know me. I was never going to be an asset to his company since I had/have absolutely zero skills or interest in mergers and acquisitions.

But none of that seemed to matter.

And though I didn’t end up securing a visa, a job, or even an internship, I had one of the most extraordinary adventures of my life.

So next time you talk yourself out of sending a cold message to someone you’re certain will never reply, stop and ask yourself: what’s the worst that could happen?

The person you never, ever expected to reply to your message, just might.

And there you’ll be, in a beautiful apartment in the West Village eating Thanksgiving dinner with one of the world’s most famous musicians.

Life after New York

Just before I returned home for Christmas, I received some news that lifted the sadness I’d felt since spring.

I called Dad to tell him and when he tried to speak the words caught in his throat. He told me he’d call me back. “It’s 10 o’clock in the morning,” he said when we spoke again, “and I’m getting a beer to celebrate.”

It’s been almost 9 years since I returned from that particular trip.

I’m still in love with New York City and yes, I still dream of living there one day.

Until then, here’s to Dad. For sending the message.

👋 Question for you!

Do you have a story of messaging a stranger that turned into a lifelong friendship, a business partnership, or an exciting opportunity?

I would absolutely love to hear about it in the comments below.

P.S. Back in 2015, I wrote about this entire mad experience for The Debrief (RIP). It’s now available to read on Grazia.

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