#1 ·
I was sitting in a coffee shop yesterday, just watching the morning rush, and I started thinking about how much of our "self-made" identity is actually a massive lie. We live in this culture that is obsessed with the lone wolf. We love the narrative of the kid who came from nothing, worked harder than everyone else, stayed disciplined, and finally climbed the mountain through sheer force of will. We put these people on posters and call them icons of individual agency. But the more I get older, the more I realize that almost every major breakthrough in my life—and probably yours too—wasn't just the result of my own grinding. It was because someone else, often someone who wasn't even looking for credit, planted a seed or held a door open at exactly the right moment.
It’s that subtle, quiet influence of a mentor or a peer that we never really talk about in our biographies. We talk about the "big breaks," the massive contracts, or the sudden surges in visibility. We don't talk about the person who sat next to us in a locker room, or a coworker who gave us a piece of advice that sounded insignificant at the time, but ended up fundamentally shifting our entire approach to our craft. It’s like a ripple effect. One person's professional standard or personal composure rubs off on you, and suddenly, your ceiling has been raised, even if you don't realize who moved it.
I remember back when I was starting out in my first real corporate gig. I was incredibly green, arrogant, and frankly, a bit of a mess. I thought I knew everything because I’d read the books. There was this senior guy in my department—not a big shot, just a steady, reliable presence—who never raised his voice and never missed a deadline. He didn't give me formal training. He didn't "mentor" me in the traditional sense. But just by watching how he handled pressure and how he treated the junior staff, my entire perception of what "professionalism" meant shifted. He didn't even know he was teaching me. He was just being himself, and that quiet example became the blueprint for my own career. If I hadn't crossed paths with him, I might have burned out or blown my chances years ago.
It makes me wonder about the ethics of recognition. Why is it that we feel such a strong urge to claim 100% of our victories? Is it ego, or is it just a survival mechanism in a competitive world? If I go into a job interview and tell them I'm a "self-made" success, it sounds impressive. If I say, "Well, I'm actually the product of three different people who showed me how to behave and a mentor who helped me find my footing," I sound less like a winner and more like a student. We’ve become so conditioned to value the end result that we’ve lost respect for the lineage of skill and character that makes that result possible.
I think this applies to everything, not just careers. It’s in relationships, it's in how we handle our health, it's in how we develop our hobbies. We are all just a collection of the influences we've absorbed from the people we spent time with. Some people are lightning bolts—they change your life with one big gesture. But I think the most important people are often the ones who provide the steady, quiet foundation that allows you to eventually stand on your own. They provide the context that makes your success even possible.
It’s a bit humbling, isn't it? To realize that the "greatness" we see in the world is rarely a solo act, but rather a long, winding chain of influence where the most important links are often the ones nobody ever hears the name of. It makes me look at my own life and try to trace back the threads. Who are the people who shaped the way I think, even if I never told them? And more importantly, am I currently being that person for someone else without even realizing it?
Do you think we have a responsibility to acknowledge the people who quietly shaped us, or is it better to just let the work speak for itself?
It’s that subtle, quiet influence of a mentor or a peer that we never really talk about in our biographies. We talk about the "big breaks," the massive contracts, or the sudden surges in visibility. We don't talk about the person who sat next to us in a locker room, or a coworker who gave us a piece of advice that sounded insignificant at the time, but ended up fundamentally shifting our entire approach to our craft. It’s like a ripple effect. One person's professional standard or personal composure rubs off on you, and suddenly, your ceiling has been raised, even if you don't realize who moved it.
I remember back when I was starting out in my first real corporate gig. I was incredibly green, arrogant, and frankly, a bit of a mess. I thought I knew everything because I’d read the books. There was this senior guy in my department—not a big shot, just a steady, reliable presence—who never raised his voice and never missed a deadline. He didn't give me formal training. He didn't "mentor" me in the traditional sense. But just by watching how he handled pressure and how he treated the junior staff, my entire perception of what "professionalism" meant shifted. He didn't even know he was teaching me. He was just being himself, and that quiet example became the blueprint for my own career. If I hadn't crossed paths with him, I might have burned out or blown my chances years ago.
It makes me wonder about the ethics of recognition. Why is it that we feel such a strong urge to claim 100% of our victories? Is it ego, or is it just a survival mechanism in a competitive world? If I go into a job interview and tell them I'm a "self-made" success, it sounds impressive. If I say, "Well, I'm actually the product of three different people who showed me how to behave and a mentor who helped me find my footing," I sound less like a winner and more like a student. We’ve become so conditioned to value the end result that we’ve lost respect for the lineage of skill and character that makes that result possible.
I think this applies to everything, not just careers. It’s in relationships, it's in how we handle our health, it's in how we develop our hobbies. We are all just a collection of the influences we've absorbed from the people we spent time with. Some people are lightning bolts—they change your life with one big gesture. But I think the most important people are often the ones who provide the steady, quiet foundation that allows you to eventually stand on your own. They provide the context that makes your success even possible.
It’s a bit humbling, isn't it? To realize that the "greatness" we see in the world is rarely a solo act, but rather a long, winding chain of influence where the most important links are often the ones nobody ever hears the name of. It makes me look at my own life and try to trace back the threads. Who are the people who shaped the way I think, even if I never told them? And more importantly, am I currently being that person for someone else without even realizing it?
Do you think we have a responsibility to acknowledge the people who quietly shaped us, or is it better to just let the work speak for itself?