My dad worked the same lumber mill for forty-seven years in a small town in Canada and (seemingly) loved every minute of his unionized, politicized employment career. His passion for his profession embodies a boldness I have yet to muster in my own professional path, but I have learned a profound secret to success from him.
One thing my dad exemplified, more than anyone else in my life — living, fictional, or otherwise — is the importance of being humbly, boldly, and bravely honest about what one does not know. If you ask my father for advice, he will gladly share his insights if he has relevant experience; otherwise, his response will be along the lines of, “I do not know enough about this topic to add to the conversation.”
Both of my parents have done this for my siblings and me, profoundly shaping our perspectives of age, wisdom, and decision-making. They have admitted when they didn’t know best and have taken our lead on their major life decisions because we (their children or one of us) simply knew better or were subject matter experts on the topic. This humility is something I have not seen equitably in other households.
I see so many families who never truly garner the value of having a relative who is a specialist at something near at hand for support. Many tend to diminish a person’s credentials when they return home for Christmas, viewing them as some version of their younger selves. It’s self-serving, tribal, and elitist, which is why career, family life, and self-worth often feel chaotically…
