I’ve spent much of my life believing I was a pretty good judge of people. Growing up on the south side of Chicago, reading people wasn’t just a useful skill. It felt necessary. You learned to pay attention. To read a room. To notice what wasn’t being said. To trust your instincts. That ability served me well over the years. Or so I thought. Years ago, I was asked to serve on a committee with another professional speaker. Before we ever worked together, I had already formed an opinion about him. You know how quickly that happens. A few conversations. A couple…