I got the most beautiful thank you note this week, from a dear friend, reminding me that it was her and her husband’s 18th wedding anniversary. She sends a similar note every year at this time. I introduced them.

Humble brag: It was a bit more direct than a casual setup. Her (now husband) had gone through a breakup with his girlfriend, and he was having a party. I asked if I could bring a friend I thought he would like. He was a little hesitant, and I told him, “I’m bringing your future wife to your party, and you’re going to have to toast me at the wedding.”

And they did. (Drops mic…)

Outside of my children, it may be my most proud achievement. My friend’s thank you note popped up at the same time as a random LinkedIn endorsement…from someone I don’t know, for a skill I don’t have.

Two endorsements…one meant the world. One made me think, “what in the world?”

At this point in my life, I would much rather be known for things that are not on my resume or my LinkedIn profile, like having the forethought to connect two amazing people. Or raise children who are kind and decent humans. Or be the person who always gets seated at the weird, out-of-town cousin table at weddings because I can (and do) talk to anybody.

I’m sure all of these life skills are in some way marketable, but that’s not really the point. So often we are defined by how we earn a living. I find this especially true in D.C., where I work. “She’s chief of staff for Senator So and So,” or “he’s a lobbyist for the Creamed Corn Association.” (There may in fact be one of those…we don’t know.) And while those labels are accurate, they are not complete.

They don’t reflect that the chief of staff may also be the friend who everyone calls when they are sick because she dashes over with homemade chicken soup, or she can outlast everyone in yoga class standing in tree position. Or that the creamed corn lobbyist took that job because his dad was a farmer who lived in a little pink house by the interstate and thought he had it so good.

I would like to be thought of as my kids would have described me when they were six. “She is awesome and makes great chocolate chip pancakes.” Or, as one of my daughter’s best friends told my daughter when I checked on her when she was upset during a sleepover: “Your mom is very comforting.” That was probably 12 years ago, and it’s still one of my favorite compliments.

A friend in D.C. shared an article about not introducing people by occupation. It spoke to me. Chances are, if you are out with friends, you are not out with them because of what is on their business card. You like their company. They have a wicked sense of humor. They make you feel better about yourself. They provide great counsel on love, work, kids and the importance of Spanx. They are the ones that consistently (and discreetly) point out the lingering spinach in your teeth. I like to heed the advice of the article, and when introducing friends or colleagues to others, I try to do so with a compliment. “Meet Robb…if you are ever in jail, or want the world’s best smoked salmon, he is who you call.”

But that’s only one side of the conversation. So often upon meeting someone new, the first question is, “What do you do?”

I said there would a wedding toast…and there was.

There was a time when having had my job go away in a layoff, I opted to take the summer off and hang out with my then very small children. I would meet people, and that was always the opening question. And that question stupefied me. I froze. I’d become so wrapped up in what I did for work, I hadn’t even contemplated talking about what I did.

Now, I’d like to answer that question a different way. Maybe something like: “I work so I can support three mostly glorious beings, who are the smarter, prettier, more confident and all around better versions of me. I make killer breakfasts with sometimes upwards of five different food items that are hot and on the table at the same time. I’m quick with a joke and a light of your smoke. And once, I connected two awesome people, who send me thank you notes annually.”

What do you do?

One of my greatest accomplishments: their marriage and our friendship.