While I inherited a measure of pragmatism (and a furry body) from my father, my spirit came from my mom, Barbara Avrin.

My mother, with her colorful tops and bright red lipstick, is big, bawdy, and loud. “If you can’t hide it, decorate it!” she says. And anyone who doesn’t like it can “kiss off!” she’ll say with a laugh. But the truth is, they do like it. She is the Molly Brown for the new millennium. Throughout my entire life people have always said to me, “I just love your mom. She’s outrageous.” That she is. And as we all come to realize as we get older that we are who we are, and my mom makes no apologies. She has lived her life on her own terms and plans to live out her final days the same way.

In fact, she informed me the other day that she wants to die on a cruise ship. Let me rephrase that. My mom wants to live on a cruise ship, until she dies. She’s got it all figured out.

She says that for the same price of a nursing-care facility, she could live on a cruise ship and see the world. “Think about it,” she says. “I’d never have to cook a meal; they clean your room and make your bed for you every day. If you need something in your room, they bring it to you, and there’s dancing every night!”

“What will you do with all your stuff?” I ask.

“What do I need stuff for?” she fires back. “They’ve got the fine china, the furniture, the linens, and any book you could ever want—what else do I need?”

She’s serious. And if there’s anyone that could do it, it’s my mom. Barbara Avrin can take over and light up a room faster than a SWAT team. (Think Liza Minnelli, but less shy.) An introvert she is not. She’ll sit down at dinner on the first night of the voyage and stand up an hour later with new best friends. And the next week, she’ll do it all over again.

Is her over-the-top approach to life distasteful to some? Sure. But even the quiet people are undesirable to somebody. The point is that I recognize that the greatest gift I received from my mother is the permission to be who I am. And while the “gifts” I’ve received from my parents don’t define me, just like the physical traits I’ve inherited, their spirit remains an integral part of what makes me, me.

Note: My Mom passed away very unexpectedly last week at the ripe young age of 69. The world is a less colorful…and much quieter place.

I arrived this afternoon for my third face-to-face meeting with a strong prospect for the Vistage CEO roundtable group that I lead in Denver. I’ll call him “Mike.” Assuming this was the final step of the evaluation process with an impressive company leader, I believed that Mike and I both had found a strong fit and would likely be progressing with a formal membership application.

After moving beyond the greetings and pleasantries, we sat in his office as Mike closed the door. As he sat by his desk, he began by explaining that he had been struggling with an internal dynamic at his company whereby his customer service staff and administration staff were badmouthing each other. Worst yet, they were doing it with customers of the company. He explained that when a customer called with a complaint about their bill or the service that had been provided, Admin would say that the Customer Service department had clearly dropped the ball, or Customer Service would throw Admin under the bus by blaming them for the problem. He was struggling with how best to confront the situation.

Mike continued: “Then I got this voice mail message last Friday,” and he turned to the phone on his desk, hit the button marked “Speakerphone” and began to dial. To my surprise, the voice on the recording was my own.

“Hi Mike,” I said. “This is David Avrin and yes, you are correct, the meeting place listed in the e-mail was wrong. Some ‘Bone-Head’ from the corporate office sent out the wrong location.” Then, without ever taking his gaze off of me, Mike pressed a button on the phone rewinding it slightly. “Some Bone-Head from the corporate office…” Click. “Some Bone-Head from the corporate office…” Click. “Some Bone-Head from the corporate office…” Click. “Some Bone-Head from the corporate office…”

I sat speechless as Mike leaned back in his chair and said: “So here’s my dilemma. I’m looking for an executive coach to help me become a better leader and deal with issues such as how to confront poor internal behavior, and this message is what I received from my leading candidate. What do I do with this?”

As he spoke, all I could do was nod knowingly, acknowledging that everything he was saying was true and the concern he expressed was richly-deserved. I had screwed-up – big time. Not just because my poorly-considered, off-hand comment had violated my covenant with a trusted and valued corporate partner, but because I had damaged my credibility with someone I respected. It was no one’s fault but my own.

In the moment, I knew the worst thing I could do was to make an excuse, or try to talk around the massive “elephant” clearly sitting in the middle of the room. Instead, I acknowledged what we both knew to be true. I screwed up. I offered my apology and told him that he was right to call me out on my poor behavior and that I knew it had damaged my credibility. I explained that in my effort to be overly casual in my correspondence and maybe even a little bit “cool,” I used a very poor choice of words. More likely, I offered, in casually dismissing or even denigrating someone else for what was just an honest mistake, I was basically implying that I wouldn’t be guilty of such an infraction. Of course we all make mistakes, and ascribing blame, regardless of the legitimacy, was clearly wrong.

As I tried to remember my feelings at the moment when I made the call following the errant e-mail blast, I realized that my response was a poorly-considered, knee-jerk reaction (emphasis on “jerk”) to a communication that I feared would damage his perception our organization. Instead, it was my actions that diminished the credibility of the organization. So once again, I apologized.

We went on to have a solid and meaningful discussion about the value of our leadership roundtable and his prospective involvement, but the reality of what had transpired hung over the conversation. What will happen from here on is unclear, but what is clear is that my professional reputation was tarnished – by my behavior. It is a bell that can’t be un-rung.

One of my favorite expressions states that: “Experience comes from bad decisions – and good decisions come from experience.” This is a bad decision I will not repeat.

Do you learn from your professional mistakes? Do you sometimes look back at your early work experiences and cringe at some of the things you did and said. I would submit that every time an inappropriate thought crosses your mind, but fails to cross your lips, then that’s evidence of lessons well-learned. And we are still learning – myself included. Sometimes even “The Coach” needs a coach.

Your personal and professional brand is not just your logo or your tag line. It is not the colors of your lobby or the greeting offered to your customers. Your brand is not the jingle on your commercials or the cleanliness of your bathroom. It is everything. It’s everything that you do, and everything you don’t do well in your business. Your brand is what others think about you when you leave the room, or when they leave your business.

Today, I stunk up the place. Tomorrow I will do better. Mea culpa.

David Avrin is known internationally as the Visibility Coach. A noted speaker, author, branding consultant and executive coach, David shows professionals and organizations how to stand apart and raise their profile in a competitive marketplace. Visit him online at www.visibilitycoach.com.