Find mentors who will help you break your snow globe
Fid McPherron
Today, so many of us talk about the importance of mentors in guiding us through our lives and careers, but just years ago, mentorship wasn’t a thing we acknowledged openly. Whether we knew it or not, though, we were choosing our mentors — those humans we admired and who gave us strength. My greatest mentor was my grandfather, my mom’s dad.
My grandpa was an entrepreneur. He created something out of nothing and constantly reinvented himself. He was tall, handsome, and perpetually in a good mood. On our frequent visits, my siblings and I were greeted with a “wee doggies!” and hugs that seemed to make all things right with the world. When grandpa was in his recliner, we sat on the hassock in front of him and he rubbed our backs endlessly. There was constant conversation: He asked how we were, what we were doing in school, and what we were going to be when we grew up. The opportunity to dream was wide open, and I wanted to grow up and be like him.
I know my grandpa was so successful because of his unwavering drive to innovate and push himself beyond his comfort zone. He was a risk-taker; he carried with him a presence that didn’t allow for failure. He pushed his own limits, pulling up stakes and moving from Iowa to California in search of bettering himself. And whether she wanted to be or not, my grandma was along for the ride.
In the late 80s, I did the same. After spending my whole life in Beloit, Kansas, I shoved what little I owned into a car that was a bit like the Flintstones’ — it needed peddles to get it to go — and headed east. My brother and sister-in-law lived in Alexandria, Virginia, and let me stay in a little room in their apartment lined with books. I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt my grandpa's presence and knew that failure wasn’t an option.
Shortly after I arrived, my brother and sister-in-law decided to move back to Kansas, but I opted to stay and find my own way. I lived in basements, rented rooms, took on multiple jobs, and did whatever was necessary to keep my head above water. I was living the dream (okay, sometimes a nightmare), but I was taking risks and navigating life.
I often say I grew up in IT, and I mean that in many ways. One of those early jobs I took was in telecom, and I started at the very bottom — answering phones. I worked long hours, offering to take on extra shifts and work 24 hours straight. I did whatever it took to get the job done and help my team. I loved taking something broken and fixing it, learning new things, and challenging myself until I reached my breaking point. By the time I’d reached my mid 40s, I had hit my stride, I understood my strengths, and I started to believe in myself.
But this didn’t come easy. When I’m asked to give talks, I often mention a theory I’ve coined the snow globe effect: If you pick up a snow globe and shake it, the same snow falls every time. Nothing new gets in, and nothing inside gets out. A snow globe can be a metaphor for life: Staying in your same circumstance and not experiencing new things can limit your ability to grow. Getting out of your snow globe isn’t a one-time event; it’s a constant push to understand your surroundings, figure out if you’re too comfortable, and propel yourself forward. Some people like their snow globes. Other people, like me, feel the need (yes, need — not want) to break out of their comfort zones. I like to think that need was grandpa’s entrepreneurial spirt that stuck to me from the hours and hours of back rubs.
Breaking my snow globes has been possible over the years because of one common factor: good mentors. Starting with my grandpa, I’ve had countless people who believed in me, propelling me along my path. My first boss, who was barely five feet tall, led with the fierceness of a giant. She would stand in front of me, hold my arms, look into my eyes, and pause before speaking. This was her way of putting the brakes on life for a moment and creating a space to focus. Many other mentors pushed me to take on responsibilities I was certain would end in failure, but I was always willing to take risks and try — even though I was terrified. I learned to put this same trust in my mentees over the years, seeing qualities in them they couldn’t see themselves, thrusting them into responsibilities they weren’t comfortable with, and watching them flourish.
So, what ever happened to my first and greatest mentor, my grandpa? He and my grandma moved back to Iowa where he managed farms and bought houses at auction, fixed them up, rented them, and eventually sold them. My favorite accomplishment of his, though, was that he worked counseling alcoholics. He didn’t have a degree, but he did have the ability to connect with humans on a deep level and help them. That’s another quality he inspired me to focus on. Wee doggies! He was something special.
And my fierce first boss? We’ve written to each other every year for 33 years. When I visited her in late 2019, she stood in front of me — holding my arms and looking into my eyes — as I told her how much she positively impacted my life. Tears fell down our cheeks and she said, “You’ll never know how much you mean to me.” It was at that moment that I realized mentorship is a two-way street: Taking in feedback, bettering yourself, and getting out of your snow globe positively impacts those around you too.
As for my Flintstones car: It was totaled in an accident shortly after I moved east. That’s what I call a blessing in disguise.
Find your mentors, be a mentor, break through your snow globes, and challenge yourself to make each day better than the next.
— Jill P.
Contributors:
Edits by Elyse Goldberg
