Grinding, Growing, and Becoming
There are moments in life that divide everything into "before" and "after."
For me, one of those moments was holding my son Tyler for the very first time.
Nothing prepares you for that experience.
People tell you your life is about to change. They tell you you'll never look at the world the same way again. You nod politely because you believe them, but you don't really understand until a nurse places that tiny baby in your arms.
In that instant, life stops being about you.
Your dreams don't disappear, but they take a back seat to a responsibility that suddenly feels much larger than yourself.
I was young.
Amy and I were young.
Like most young couples, we didn't have all the answers. We didn't have unlimited resources. What we did have was a determination to build a life together.
Looking back, I don't remember spending much time wondering whether life was going to be difficult.
It simply was.
And that was okay.
Those years were filled with long days and early mornings.
I worked in construction.
I hammered nails.
I carried lumber.
I learned that there is dignity in honest work.
Construction teaches lessons that have very little to do with construction.
It teaches you that a crooked foundation only becomes a bigger problem later.
It teaches you that shortcuts almost always reveal themselves eventually.
Most importantly, it teaches you that worthwhile things are built one piece at a time.
Later came Home Depot.
Then driving tractor trailers.
Every job taught me something different.
Some taught technical skills.
Others taught patience.
Some taught humility.
Every one of them introduced me to people whose lives looked different from mine, but whose values often sounded remarkably familiar.
Show up.
Work hard.
Keep your word.
Take care of your family.
It's amazing how universal those principles really are.
Eventually Amy and I made the decision to move back to Central New York.
At the time, it felt like another decision.
Looking back, it was one of the defining decisions of our lives.
Some of the most important choices we ever make don't feel monumental when we're making them.
They only become obvious in the rearview mirror.
Around that time, I found my way into financial services.
If I'm honest, I didn't arrive with some grand vision of becoming a financial advisor.
Like many careers, mine began with opportunity more than certainty.
I simply knew I wanted to build something meaningful.
What I didn't realize was that I was entering a profession built almost entirely on trust.
You can know investments.
You can understand taxes.
You can study insurance.
But none of it matters if people don't trust you.
Trust isn't earned through presentations.
It's earned through consistency.
One promise at a time.
One meeting at a time.
One relationship at a time.
Early in my career I had the privilege of working with Larry.
Larry was one of those people who could challenge you without discouraging you.
He also had a nickname for me.
"Eeyore."
At first, I didn't particularly appreciate it.
Looking back, he wasn't wrong.
I had a tendency to let circumstances dictate my attitude. If things were going well, I was optimistic. If they weren't, I could become discouraged more quickly than I should have.
Larry saw it before I did.
Good mentors often do.
They have a way of pointing out things we'd rather not see because they understand who we could become if we addressed them.
That nickname stayed with me.
Not because it embarrassed me.
Because it reminded me that mindset matters.
There will always be reasons to complain.
Markets fall.
Clients leave.
Plans don't work.
Business is hard.
Life is hard.
The question isn't whether challenges will come.
The question is who we become while facing them.
As the years passed, another realization slowly began to emerge.
I thought I was building a business.
I wasn't.
At least not primarily.
I was building a reputation.
Every client meeting.
Every follow-up phone call.
Every promise kept.
Every mistake acknowledged.
Every difficult conversation.
Every recommendation made with integrity.
Those became the bricks.
The business was simply the structure everyone else could see.
The reputation was the foundation underneath it.
Ryan was born, and life became even busier.
Now there were two boys watching.
That changes a man.
Children don't become who we tell them to be.
More often, they become who they watch us become.
That realization made me think differently about work.
Success wasn't simply about providing financially.
It was about providing an example.
Would they see a father who worked hard?
Would they see someone who kept his word?
Would they see someone who treated people with respect regardless of their position?
Those questions mattered far more than any job title ever would.
Somewhere along the journey I also discovered agriculture.
Or perhaps agriculture discovered me.
I found myself drawn to farm families and small business owners because their lives reflected many of the values I had grown up admiring.
They understood delayed gratification.
They understood stewardship.
They understood that some of life's most important investments require years before you see the harvest.
Working with those families shaped me as much as I hope I helped them.
In many ways, they became teachers too.
The older I get, the more convinced I become that every stage of life has mentors.
Sometimes they're older than we are.
Sometimes they're clients.
Sometimes they're our children.
Sometimes they're simply people whose quiet example teaches us more than their words ever could.
Looking back now, I also recognize that I spent too much energy proving myself.
I wanted to be successful.
I wanted people to notice.
I wanted to grow.
Those aren't bad desires.
But they can become dangerous if success becomes your identity.
Thankfully, life has a way of sanding off our rough edges.
Failure humbles us.
Success teaches us that it isn't as satisfying as we imagined.
Responsibility changes our priorities.
Children reshape our perspective.
Time reminds us that achievements fade much faster than relationships.
The Builder stage isn't really about building businesses.
It isn't even about building careers.
It's about building the kind of person who can eventually be trusted with something larger than himself.
Looking back, I didn't realize I was preparing for the next stage.
I thought I was simply trying to provide for my family.
In reality, every early morning, every difficult decision, every mentor, every mistake, and every relationship was quietly preparing me to invest in other people.
The Builder doesn't yet know he's becoming a Steward.
He simply gets up tomorrow morning and goes back to work.
One day he looks around and realizes the most valuable thing he built wasn't the business.
It was the person he became while building it.
Reflection
What are you building today?
A career?
A family?
A reputation?
A business?
Those things matter.
But don't forget the more important question.
Who are you becoming while you build them?
Because long after people forget what you built, they'll remember the kind of person you were while you were building it.