By: my mentor Darren J Hardy Someone recently asked me this question on Facebook: “Do you have any suggestions on how we can get the most from our mentors?” It’s a good question and I’m sure you’ve already figured out that I am a huge believer in the value of mentors. All of my life I’ve collected mentors like others collect rare coins (or kitchy flamingo figurines). At every business I have had, at every conference I’ve ever attended, even at restaurants where I frequent—as far as I’m concerned, there could be a mentor waiting around every corner. But here’s the difference with mining mentors and collecting rare coins—when it comes to mentors, once you find one, you are foolish if you tuck it in the pocket of some fancy collector’s book and stash it away in your safe (or put on your library shelf or only in your inbox). Unfortunately, that’s what most people do. So, do I have any suggestions on how we can get the most from our mentors? Ya I do; three in fact. Ready? 1. Show up. 2. Ask. 3. Do it. Seems pretty simple, right? Apparently not, since so few actually do it. So let me give you an example of how I’ve done it. Remember the story in The Compound Effect where I learned that if I was going to expand my success I needed to expand my associations? So, I would drive more than an hour across two bridges to get to Sam’s on The Warf in the affluent neighborhood of Tiburon in Marin County, California. Well, not only was I inspired by the spectacular houses that cascaded off the hillside there, one of which eventually became my home, but I also met a mentor who helped me achieve the success to afford it. One time while visiting Sam’s I was at the bar waiting for my table. Sitting next to me was a gentleman in his early 60s with white hair and distinguished features. I knew I had seen him there before, sitting at the bar, conversing easily with the staff and other patrons. Now up close, I could tell by the watch on his wrist and the scotch in his glass that this was a man who had closed a few deals or started a few empires during his lifetime. We started a conversation as his dinner was delivered to him at the bar, and when the hostess came to show me to my table, I kindly declined—I would be dining at the bar as well. During the course of the evening, the gentleman shared stories of deep-sea fishing trips gone awry, epic ski vacations with his family and his love for a particular opera composition of German composer Wagner. He was a fascinating person. I couldn’t help but ask what his business he was in, and I learned that he was a San Francisco businessman of legendary esteem. Startups, mergers, complete management overhauls—oh my! We sat there, at the bar at Sam’s, long after our plates had been cleared. I kept asking questions and mentally recording copious notes as my new acquaintance recounted a lifetime of business success. I was hoping I wasn’t a bother, that I hadn’t just hijacked this man’s attempt at having a quiet dinner to himself. But he seemed to delight in sharing his wisdom. I even sensed that my rabid desire for knowledge and diligence in capturing it all impressed him. As the bartender prepared to wipe down the bar and close up for the night, my new friend and I rose from our stools, stretched (we had been sitting for several hours by now), and exchanged a great-meeting-you handshake. As we walked to the parking lot the gentleman mentioned that he was speaking at an event the very next morning in the city, a lecture he thought I might enjoy. “I’ll be there,” I said, and immediately canceled my morning appointments. He seemed impressed by that, too. And I was there. I showed up. A lot. He gave lectures to business service groups in San Francisco and Marin County, and when he did, I showed up. I found out he was a guest lecturer at The College of Business at San Francisco State University. I sneaked into the classroom when he was scheduled to teach and sat in the front row (taking copious notes, of course). I learned there was a charity he was passionate about, and that he was going to be honored at an upcoming gala. I paid the hefty price to attend—I wanted to congratulate him in person and, though the moment was fleeting, I could tell he was impressed I was there. We stayed in touch and even had a few more impromptu dinners at Sam’s. Each time I had the opportunity, I asked my new mentor questions, told him about my current business challenges, treated his advice like freshly mined gold and put it into practice immediately. And every single time, his wisdom made a difference. I was able to navigate some difficult storms with his guidance. I wanted him to know it, and I wanted to thank him. But just words didn’t seem like enough so… Several months later I sent tickets for him and his wife to an upcoming Wagner performance at the San Francisco Opera House. And even though I wasn’t a huge opera fan (at the time!), the tickets were for seats right next to mine (so I had ‘brain picking’ time!). I remember that night like it was last night. During intermission, as we lingered in the lobby, I told him how I applied an idea he gave me for my business and the tremendous results it was creating for my clients and me. I told him how another piece of his advice helped me avoid a huge setback. And I thanked him—his willingness to share had saved me years of trial-by-error. Then he said something to me, just as we were signaled back into the opera house for Act II, that I will never forget. It’s the reason why I am sharing this story and writing this article for you now. He said, “You know, Darren, I have taught thousands of students in the classroom now, shared my ideas with auditoriums full of people. I have even sat down with people one-on-one who were asking me for advice. But you are the first to actually treat the advice with respect, do something with it and come back to tell me how it worked. I can’t tell you how meaningful and rewarding that is to me. You alone make all this worth it. You have done me a great favor, thank you.” What?? I did HIM a great favor? As the curtain closed that evening and I made my way back home, I contemplated what had happened. Though my mentor had supplied innumerable amounts of advice to this point, the most important thing I ever learned from him happened there, in the opera house lobby: People who have achieved, greatly WANT to help and teach others how to do the same, IF… You show up (repeatedly), ask questions (the onus is on you) and do what they advise. It seems obvious, but you’d be surprised at how so few do. If you want to make the most of your mentors, don’t treat them like a rare coin. Don’t hide them away—treasured, yes—collecting dust. To realize their true value: 1. Show up, 2. Ask, 3. Do it. And I won’t be surprised if they are thanking you for doing so.
Posted on: Fri, 20 Sep 2013 16:30:00 +0000
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015