You always remember your first client. The nerves, the hope, the sense that this might be the start of something big and, if you’re me, the flashing red-and-blue lights in your rearview mirror.

Let me set the scene:

It was one of my very first rounds of showings as a newly licensed agent. I had studied, prepped, double-checked my route, and even cleaned out my car like I was hosting a dinner party in the front seat. I was determined to be the agent who had it all together.

And for a while… I did.

We were mid-conversation, chatting about layouts, lighting, and life. My buyer was riding shotgun, and we had a rhythm going, until I saw the lights. At first, I assumed they weren’t for me. There’s no way, I thought. I wasn’t speeding. I had a full tank of gas. I didn’t roll through a stop sign. What could it be?

Cue the realization: they were for me.

Apparently, my registration was expired. Completely unknown to me at the time and to be honest, I’m still convinced no one gave me a heads up. But it probably wasn’t a coincidence that this little mishap happened during a season where I was running on stress and caffeine and crossing my fingers more than I was checking my mail.

So, there I was, on the side of the road, trying to explain to the officer that I was in the middle of showing homes while my very first client sat quietly next to me, half amused, half unsure of what she had signed up for.

I was mortified. Embarrassed. A little shaky. And full of shame that I wasn’t showing up the way I wanted to.

But here’s what I learned:

Professionalism isn’t about never messing up. It’s about how you carry yourself when the plan falls apart.

I took care of the $468 ticket, which when you’re broke – stings a bit. Got my registration squared away. And finished the day of showings with a little more humility and a lot more perspective. That client stuck with me, by the way. We laughed about it later. She even said it made me more relatable.

The truth is that real estate is a human business. We guide people through big decisions, emotional turning points, and complex logistics. And sometimes, on rare, humbling occasions, we do it while being pulled over on Bell Road.

I don’t lead with perfection. I lead with presence. With preparation. With an all-in kind of care that doesn’t vanish just because things get messy. That moment, uncomfortable as it was, became a quiet kind of cornerstone in my career. A reminder that I can do hard things. That I can laugh at myself. And that showing up, registration mishaps and all, still matters.

So if you’re ever worried you have to have it all figured out to start something big: you don’t. You just need to care deeply, own your mistakes, and keep going.

Flashing lights and all.