Lessons

Don't Be The Norm

It started with a label, as it so often does. In middle school, I was first told that I wasn't "normal." It was meant as an insult, one of many sharper words thrown my way during those years. For a long time, I didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't until much later that I realized being "not normal" was the greatest gift I could have ever received.

The Fork in the Road

High school is presented as a singular experience, a four-year montage of football games, birthday parties, and celebratory nights out. My montage was different. It was lit by the fluorescent glow of office lights and the early morning sun rising over a job site. I was the kid who always worked.

I worked for my parents. I spent a summer bussing tables at a restaurant. My calendar wasn't filled with social events, but with shifts. Eventually, the invitations stopped coming. The question "Are you busy Friday?" became rhetorical. Everyone knew the answer: I was working. I was chasing a different kind of validation—one earned through grit and outpacing the expectations of others. My strategy, for the most part, worked. I was building a foundation, earning money, and preparing for the next stage of my life.

But this path was not without its shadows. To my peers, I had no social life, and they were right. My friendships were confined to classroom discussions and the occasional lunch period. I never saw those friends once the final bell rang. I stood at a crossroads that every young person faces. One path led to the easy allure of teenage rebellion and the fleeting acceptance that comes with it. The other was a quieter, more solitary path of discipline and preparation. I chose the latter.

Looking back, there are moments I wish I had been more "normal." I wish I had been more approachable, less of the quiet, secluded kid who kept to himself. I sometimes feel I unintentionally intimidated people who assumed I thought I was smarter or more successful than them. The truth is, I craved connection just as much as anyone, but my focus was elsewhere. My work ethic had become my identity. The only people I felt I could truly relate to were my teachers—adults who operated on a similar wavelength of responsibility and forward-thinking.

Was I the smartest kid in the class? Not by a long shot. But in the real world, the world of deadlines, paychecks, and practical problems? I felt—and still feel—that I had an edge. It’s a quiet confidence, not cockiness. It's the humility to listen, learn, and observe, but the readiness to play the cards you know others don't hold when the situation demands it.

The Currency of Brutal Honesty

This readiness extends to a trait many find uncomfortable: radical honesty. In a world that runs on sugar-coated feedback and polite evasions, the willingness to "say it like it is" is a rare and valuable currency. If I believe a person isn't a valuable asset to a project, or an idea is fundamentally flawed, I will say so.

This approach is a double-edged sword. It can sever friendships and create workplace friction. But it's also the bedrock of effective leadership. The best managers don't dance around problems; they identify them, state them plainly, and provide a direct path to the solution. They don't try to spare your feelings when you mess up; they tell you where you went wrong so you can get it right. This isn't about being cruel; it's about being effective. It is the ultimate form of respect for a person's potential.

This directness stems from a core belief in individuality. We live in a world obsessed with quantifiable, learnable traits. People define their "specialness" by saying, "I'm good at math," or "I won a spelling bee." But these aren't markers of true individuality. They are skills. Anyone can learn to spell a complex word if they decide it's worth their time. But that knowledge is useless if your audience doesn't understand you, and it's unimpressive to an audience that already does.

True specialness isn't in the skills you've learned; it's in how you choose to apply them. It's in your reaction to a crisis, your unique perspective on a problem, your unwavering choice when faced with a difficult decision. My parents and I share many traits, but if the three of us were presented with the same exact problem, we would handle it in three completely different ways. That is individuality.

The Myth of the Mold

Society loves to create molds and pressure us into them. The college stereotype is a perfect example: you must join a fraternity or sorority, party every weekend, and treat your education as a secondary concern.

I call this the pursuit of temporary joy. Getting drunk on a Saturday night doesn't make you smarter; science proves it does the opposite. Posting your escapades on social media for a fleeting rush of likes and comments is a short-term transaction with long-term consequences. Every future employer, partner, and competitor will have access to that ledger.

You have to ask yourself a fundamental question: When your career is on the line, who gets the last laugh? Will it be the person scrolling through your past, or will it be you, sitting on the other side of the desk, reviewing their application? Do you want to be the person looking up in admiration, or the person who is looked up to?

The Power of One

The simplest, most profound truth is this: if you try to be someone you're not, you will fail. You will fail because you will never find joy in what you do. If you can't find people who respect you for who you are, then learn to embrace solitude. Being alone is one of life's most powerful states.

You were born alone. You came into this world and your heart started beating all by itself. When you get up and go to work, you are the one making that choice. Yes, a job may be a necessity, but you chose to show up. You could leave at any point. Life is an endless series of choices, and anyone who tells you differently is trying to blame their own poor choices on you.

If you dream of being a zoologist but worry it won't pay as much as a degree in finance, be a zoologist. What does it matter what anyone else thinks, so long as you feel fulfilled by your own actions? I guarantee you a significant portion of those finance majors are miserable. They made the choice to be someone they're not. They abandoned the childhood dream of being an astronaut, a firefighter, or an entrepreneur because they were afraid. The people who actually become those things are the ones who followed their passion.

If a job offer comes that will advance your life and secure your family's future, but it's in a different state, away from friends and family, you take it. Why? Because it is your life. It is your choice.

The moral of the story is simple. Make the choice that is best for you. Don't contort yourself to fit the expectations of others. The world has enough rocks.

Be the diamond in the rough.