Authors: Trent Hamm
A final ingredient for professional success both personally and within a peer community is mentorship. A
mentor
is simply any person with significant experience within that field who is willing to provide advice and basic assistance to individuals who lack that experience.
Early on, finding a mentor can be an invaluable step toward getting a foothold within a particular area of interest. A mentor often knows the hurdles that a beginner will face along the way and can help a new person overcome these hurdles before they turn into genuine obstacles.
Finding a mentor isn’t that difficult. Simply seek out an experienced person in your field who you respect and with whom you won’t be in direct competition in the reasonable future. Instead of asking that person to be a mentor, keep in mind the giving nature of a successful community and also keep in mind the fact that a good mentor is likely already loaded with demands. Instead, offer whatever you can to your potential mentor, in the form of special connections to others you may have, information you may have, or perhaps even as simple as a helping hand in a tight position.
Later on, you may have the opportunity to mentor new members of your professional community. As a mentor, it’s important to recognize that, for the moment, you have substantially more value to offer them than they have to offer you. Keep the long view in mind—if you provide valuable mentorship to someone who blossoms into a success in your field, then your value to the community (and to that person) will be substantially increased.
This chapter outlines a path to career success that’s quite different than you’ll find in many career books. Rather than focusing on how to get a job and how to get ahead in a specific company, the new career rules point to a different community-based path, where passionate peers help each other find the opportunities that best fit them and support each other throughout their career growth. Here are five key steps in this journey:
“Are you sure this is actually something you want to do?” my supervisor asked me. She sat across the desk from me with a look of utter surprise on her face. I was walking away from a great job that paid me almost $50,000 a year with strong benefits. I was choosing instead to work as a freelance writer for an unclear income. I was also choosing to make this move with two children under three years of age at home and less than a year after taking out a six-figure mortgage for a home. “Absolutely,” I told her with a sense of elation and freedom, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
February 2008
Why would I jump off such a big financial cliff right after spending two years getting us completely out of credit card debt, paying off student loans and car loans, and finally building up a good emergency fund? At first glance, one would think that this is a position to accumulate wealth and secure a strong financial future—after
all, that’s the perspective constantly preached by other personal finance gurus.
My reason for turning my financial life around, though, was to live the life I wanted to live, free from the shackles of debt. I wanted a writing career that I could control. I wanted the flexibility to be able to spend many days with my children while they were young. I wanted a job that didn’t have to follow me with a load of stress everywhere I went. I wanted a job that would allow me to just get up and walk away from it for a while and follow whatever windmill I saw in the horizon.
In short, I wanted a very different life than the one I was leading.
In the film
American Beauty
, the central character, Lester Burnham, tells his wife something that has stuck in my mind for years: “This isn’t life, it’s just stuff. And it’s become more important to you than living.” The typical American lifestyle—buying an expensive home that pushes what you can afford, constantly striving to keep up with the affluence of others, working a job that you can’t even consider leaving because the pay is just too good—adds up to a broken American dream, one in which the joys of life are often pushed aside in a never-ending chase for something we cannot quite attain. Once we get the thing we want, we always find that there is something else to want.
I realized that the thing that was missing in my life wasn’t a material thing—it was a way of life. It was spending time with my family without the pressure of work hanging over my head. It was writing—perhaps
creating that elusive Great American Novel, perhaps not, but always enjoying the chase of the written word. It was the ability to wake up in the morning and realize that I
wanted
to do all of the things on my checklist for the day.
My family’s financial efforts in the two years between hitting financial bottom and walking away from my job were intense and, at times, extreme. We lived very cheaply, learning new skills and new interests along the way. I launched a side business—TheSimpleDollar.com—that earned a small measure of income and also allowed me to dig into my passion for writing as well as my passion for self-improvement. We threw every extra penny into eliminating debt, which meant that we went without many material things that might have provided us with a burst of short-term enjoyment.
My reward for that effort was an opportunity to wipe the slate clean and create the kind of life I’d always dreamed of. You can do it, too.
Consider the human hierarchy of needs as described by Abraham Maslow. To put it simply, once one’s basic needs are met—clothing, food, shelter, companionship—humans then tend to have higher aspirations, such as self-actualization and professional fulfillment.
This hierarchy is subverted in many ways—advertising, peer pressure, our own psychology—and it leaves us taking actions that undermine our basic needs while
making futile attempts at grabbing at our higher needs.
Add into this mix the increasing unpredictability of modern life, and you’ve got a painful situation. It’s no wonder that many people see such radical life choices as effectively being “impossible.”
They’re not.
The first step to achieving the life you dream of is assembling a solid foundation that not only ensures your basic needs, but protects them over the long haul. Here are six essential pieces of that foundation:
“So you’re quitting that great job just so you can sit at home all day and do nothing? What will you do for money?” My old friend looked at me incredulously, as though he suspected I was feeding him a story.
“For one, I don’t really need all that much money. And for another, I’m not just going to sit at home all day. I’m going to be a more involved parent, and I have a writing career that seems to be starting to take off.”
“But what about insurance? And all of the people who rely on you? I think you’re making a big mistake.”
I looked at him and scooped up another bite of pad thai. I was breaking the rules, and he didn’t like it.
March 2008
One of the biggest challenges that many people have when they begin to think outside the box in terms of their overall life choices is the sense that things simply aren’t done this way. It’s not how everyone else does it, so there must be something inherently wrong with it.
This impression is a reasonable one. As we discussed in
Chapters 2
and
3
, our minds deal with all the random events in our life by creating the impression that our lives are incredibly orderly. We remember the general pattern we’ve established, but we forget the countless unexpected good and bad events that disrupt that pattern all the time.
In short, all of us have a set of “rules” for how we expect our lives to go—and how we expect the lives of our friends and associates to go. Most of us go to work. Most of us earn a paycheck. Most of us do similar things on weekdays and on weekends. When we actually think of our lives significantly changing from that pattern, it can seem really uncomfortable because it involves breaking that pattern that we’ve established in our minds.
Here’s a perfect example. Every single morning, like clockwork, I wake up, spend an hour or two uninterrupted with my children, and eat breakfast with them. Whenever that pattern of quality time in the morning with my children is interrupted, I get uncomfortable. I don’t like it. It breaks a rule—and it happens to be a rule that I cherish.