Maybe you’ve heard the term “soft skills” and know, or at least have a general idea, what it means.
Or maybe you have no clue. No matter. Here’s the nut of it:
Soft skills are the human skills that make your technical skills useful. How you communicate, earn trust, read a room, and move work (and people) from confusion to clarity.
And in a world where AI will be encroaching on most of the tasks previously performed by new hires, mastering these skills, especially the art of conversation, will set you apart.
In other words, these are the skills that make you matter.
Your Technical Skills Start the Conversation; Your Soft Skills Decide How It Ends
I have a lot to say about this topic, so consider this post just the beginning. And you can thank Nelly Tacheva for lighting my fuse with her thoughtful LinkedIn post, which I’ve linked to at the bottom—PwC limiting the hiring of entry-level consulting staff to only 13 of its 72 US offices. That should be a flashing red light to all of you soon-to-graduate. AI is driving this. Judging from the likes, comments, and reposts, it struck a nerve with many.
She concludes: “The future belongs to people with excellent soft skills and strong practical AI knowledge.”
She’s dead-on right.
In fact, soft skills are the very reason a forward-thinking Office Managing Partner hired me as a audit staff associate in 1982… even though I had never taken a single auditing class.
Let that sink in.
I didn’t build my career on spreadsheets. I built it on trusted relationships. And the story of how I did that begins today… but a lot more will flow from this post.
All Too Long Ago, I Was a Salesman
When you major in marketing, you know what’s waiting for you on graduation day: you’re going to have to sell something. I went to work for R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company. You heard that right. I sold Camel, Winston, and Salem cigarettes by cold calling on every store that sold cigarettes in my territory. From the biggest grocery and gas station chains to mom-and-pop grocery, liquor, and drug stores.
Cold calling.
Walking in the front door and striking up a conversation with the manager or clerks.
And why would they talk to me? I was just a manufacturer’s rep. They already had suppliers. I was there to promote my company’s products—placing banners that said, “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should,” or persuading them to swap out the Marlboro push/pull decal on the front door. Maybe they’d allow me to hang a Winston thermometer on the wall or place a Salem change mat near the register. (None of my grandkids have ever seen a change mat.)
I made about twenty such visits a day.
Now fast forward about a decade.
After quitting my sales job and obtaining an MBA, I pursued a different career. I will never forget the look on my wife’s face when I laid out my new plan.
It began with that WSJ article mocking the Big Eight accounting industry for declaring its intention to add consulting to its tax and audit services. “This ought to be fun to watch,” the reporter said, “They’re a bunch of geeks who can’t sell a thing. Regulation drives their sales, and consulting must be sold.”
Immediately, I saw a market opportunity. I had the sales skills down cold… just needed to figure out the whole accounting and auditing thing.
Two years later, MBA in hand, I went knocking on doors that were immediately shut… except one.
That Indianapolis OMP had read that same WSJ article and saw that I could fill a need… not now… but someday. First, I’d need to learn how to audit.
My first day with the firm was September 7, 1982.
Now the Real Test Would Begin. Could I Actually Audit?
I’d been with the firm about eighteen months when I was assigned to my first public company audit, responsible for auditing the largest balance sheet account—Lease Contracts Receivable. Was I qualified to do that? I wasn’t so sure.
Here’s the part that still makes me shake my head: I hadn’t taken even one college course in auditing. And the one section of the CPA exam I failed on my first attempt?
Auditing… with a score of 54%.
What was that OMP thinking when he hired me? Former salesman, marketing major. No auditing classwork, failing the auditing exam. And, 32 years old—the oldest audit associate ever hired in the history of the Indy office.
How did that audit turn out?
Let’s just say that what I discovered and shared with the engagement partner on my 2 am call to him, just five days before the company’s earnings release, made national headlines. That earnings release never happened.
The firm later produced a video of all that occurred and put me in front of other auditors to tell the story. How it ended wasn’t the interesting part—the journey to that end is where the story will grab you. (That tale inspired my first novel, Sunday Night Fears.)
But you don’t need to buy the book to hear it. Be on the lookout for my next post.)
What’s All This Got To Do with Soft Skills?
How did I uncover what previous auditors had missed? Partners, managers, highly experienced, credentialed professionals… all presumably having taken all the right accounting classes… technically competent, but lacking in one critical skill. One that I possessed.
I knew the secret sauce.
And my sales experience taught me to spread it liberally so that it touched every person I came into contact with during that audit. From the IT director and office clerks, to the CFO’s secretary, to the night watchman.
Sales taught me how to read people.
Not just what they said, but how they said it. The pauses. The speed. The little rise at the end of a sentence that tells you they’re unsure. The flat tone that tells you they’re done. The forced laugh that says, “I don’t trust you yet.”
It also taught me how to listen.
Not “listen” the way most people do—just waiting for their turn to talk. Real listening. The kind where you don’t push back on objections. You let them land. You ask one more question. And only then, at the right moment, you offer one fact that might change their mind.
And it taught me empathy and timing.
Seeing things from their perspective. When to shift the pitch. When to test the waters with a trial close. When to close. And then… this is the part most people never learn—when to shut up.
This entire process begins with the simplest gift you can give someone: their name. Remember it. Use it. It’s the first thing we’re given after we enter this world, and most people don’t hear it often enough said with genuine attention.
“Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.” —Dale Carnegie
Over time, I built trusted relationships with people by giving them what they wanted. Keep that phrase in mind.
Then you start collecting the rest—without making it weird.
Their interests. Their background. Their family. Their goals. And later, once the relationship is real, their struggles.
And how did I know what all these strangers wanted?
That was easy. It was exactly what I wanted.
To be liked. Admired. Respected. Valued.
Think of a relationship like a potted plant.
The early days take more attention. Then it’s simple: consistent care. Neglect it, and it dies. Tend to it, and it thrives. Relationships grow or die the same way.
A Recent Example of How I Still Use Those Skills
I sometimes attend book fairs to market my book series. (Remember what I majored in?) I buy a table, set up my novels, business cards, and wait for the doors to open. Most authors pounce the moment someone steps up to their table. They launch into talking about their books before the visitor even opens her mouth.
I can hear her brain already screaming, “How do I get away from this guy!”
Here’s what I do instead.
When someone approaches, I stand. I give a friendly nod if they glance at me. Then I watch—quietly. They’re looking at my books. I’m looking at them. Not in a creepy way. In a curious way. I’m hunting for something, anything that I can connect with.
And when I find it, I take the shot.
“Did you buy that London sweatshirt at Walmart… or is there a real story behind it?”
She looked up and smiled. “My son is at university in London. We just dropped him off last month.”
In that moment, I had two choices.
I could start talking about myself. How much time I’ve spent in London, what I love about the city, where to eat, what to see… a barrage
Or…
I could talk about her.
I chose her.
“Wow. That’s huge. I’d love to hear that story.”
That’s all I said.
For the next ten minutes, she talked about her son. Why he chose to study abroad, what it felt like to leave him there, and what they experienced. If I said anything, it was to ask questions based on what she said.
When she finally stopped, she looked back down at my display.
I said nothing.
A moment later, she asked, “So what’s your series about?”
I told her.
When I finished, she said, “I’ll take all three books.”
This story needs no dissection.
The Challenge I Pose to You
The next time you walk into work, whether you’re talking to your boss, your colleagues, the receptionist, or the security guard you pass every day without seeing.
Start with them. Make a general comment to get it going. Talk about them. Ask better questions. Know when to shut up and listen.
But fair warning: when you do begin to talk, know that flattery fails every time, as it should. Be sincere. They’ll spot the difference… and remember.
In short order, you’ll be building the soft skills that separate the accountants who do the work… from the ones who lead teams.
And when the time is right, you’ll slay the marketplace.
—Tom Golden
Nelly Tacheva’s LinkedIn post
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