I worked an entire summer for a pair of burgundy Dr. Martens.
At the time, we didn’t have a car, but I enjoyed the bus ride on Muni’s 28. Leaving foggy Daly City, traveling along 19th Avenue, watching the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, and catching that daily view of the Golden Gate Bridge as the bus made its way through the Presidio. Tourists traveled from all over the world to see something I got to enjoy at least eight times a week, going to and from work.
I don’t think I fully appreciated that privilege then. I was a teenager with a summer job and a very specific pair of boots in mind.
Not long after graduating from high school, I was looking for a job. My mom was working as a housekeeper for a bank executive who lived in a tiny but chic apartment in San Francisco’s Marina District. The apartment was full of paperwork and job catalogs, which is how I learned that the woman worked for the bank with the wagon.
My mom asked whether she could help me apply for a position there. ‘She would make more money working with you,’ the executive told my mother.
My mom brought me the news, and I remember thinking, well, at least we asked. So, I applied to a community bank instead.
I started as a teller, then worked in new accounts, card services, and ACH. Later, I applied to a credit union phone center. Why? Because whenever I called about my account, I was impressed by how nice the people sounded. I was curious about what they did. From there, I moved into real estate operations and eventually found myself working through the mortgage crisis at the credit union.
At 28 years old, I found myself responsible for operations and collections because just about everyone else had either quit or been fired. There was approximately $400 million in home equity lines of credit that needed to be serviced, transferred to the federal government, or handled through investors who had purchased the loans, sometimes for pennies on the dollar.
It was an extraordinary education, although I can’t say I would have volunteered for it had someone explained the assignment beforehand.
I worked with regulators, borrowers, investors, and leadership. I listened, asked questions, and tried to understand what options were available. I brought loan modification ideas to leadership because I thought there might be ways for some borrowers to continue making payments while they figured out their next steps. We were operating under difficult circumstances, with limited resources and timelines that weren’t ours to choose. I did the best I could with what I knew and what was available to us.
Looking back, I wonder what would have happened if I had taken that first bank executive’s response as a final assessment of what I was capable of doing.
I recently came across a word shared by Jacinta M. Jimenez, PsyD, BCC, a performance coach I follow on LinkedIn: meliorism. It’s the belief that the world can be made better through human effort.
I liked that. Not because I believe hard work guarantees success, or that we can control every circumstance. Anyone who has owned a business knows better. But I do believe we have more influence over what happens next than we sometimes give ourselves credit for.
That brings me to our industry. How many moving companies began because someone saw an opportunity where another person saw a problem? How many owners learned the business by doing the work, asking questions, and taking on responsibilities they weren’t entirely prepared for? And how often do we tell ourselves that a particular service, customer, contract, or market is outside our lane?
Curiosity killed the cat, or so the saying goes. There are plenty of expressions encouraging us to mind our business, stay in our lane, and leave certain things to people who supposedly know better.
I don’t do well in lanes.
I respect experience and expertise, and I certainly believe in knowing our limitations. In the moving business, failing to understand those limitations can be expensive and dangerous. But there’s a difference between recognizing what we don’t know and deciding we’re incapable of learning it.
Maybe you’re considering a new revenue stream, expanding your storage operations, preparing a successor, or finally learning the financial side of your company. Perhaps you’re an employee who sees a different career path within this industry but doesn’t know how to get there. What would happen if, instead of dismissing the idea, you got curious enough to investigate it?
Ask someone who has done it. Learn what qualifications are required. Look at the numbers. Find out what could go wrong, and what it would take to do it properly. You may discover that the opportunity isn’t right for you. That’s useful information, too. But at least the decision will be yours, based on what you’ve learned rather than on someone else’s assumptions about your capabilities.
And I don’t want to pretend that I always approach setbacks with this wonderful attitude. There are moments when circumstances punch me in the gut. I retreat, think, overthink, and occasionally imagine cashing out and leaving the whole thing behind. But then I remember other difficult seasons, including ones I had no idea how I would get through at the time. I remind myself that I have been a beginner before, that I have figured things out before, and that I can always learn something I don’t know today.
Which brings me to this season of personal goal setting. Every year, we make lists of things we want to accomplish. Lose weight. Save money. Grow the business. Read more books. Get organized. Some of us even buy a beautiful new planner, which apparently is supposed to make all of this happen.
But how many of the things that have changed our lives were ever written on one of those lists? I certainly never wrote down, ‘Become responsible for a $400 million loan portfolio during a financial crisis.’ I didn’t plan to meet my husband at the community bank I applied to after someone else declined to help me. And I didn’t know that being impressed by the voices on the other end of a telephone would lead me into an entirely different area of banking.
So this year, alongside the usual goals, perhaps we should leave a little room for curiosity. Is there something you’ve wanted to learn but keep putting off? A conversation you’ve been meaning to have? An opportunity you’ve dismissed because you don’t have the right degree, experience, connections, or confidence? What if you made it your goal to investigate one of those things, without needing to know where it will lead?
I’m not suggesting we abandon our plans or chase every interesting idea that crosses our path. Our businesses need focus, and our employees and customers depend on us making responsible decisions. But there’s something to be said for leaving a little room in the plan for the unexpected.
I still think about those burgundy Dr. Martens and the bus rides through San Francisco. I had no idea where that summer, those jobs, or those conversations would eventually lead. And I’m glad I didn’t need to know before getting started.