Becoming a student (again)

I had a frustrating moment recently.

It started with a late-night call: “I need help, now.” On the other end was a technical expert, stuck on what seemed, to me, like a simple problem with an obvious solution.

The solution involved a single feature on one of our tools, a function that would save ten hours of grunt work. Simple. Efficient. Obvious.

We implemented the solve, but I hung up the phone in a frustrated huff.

Why, I wondered, did I—the “old guy” in the room—know more about the technology stack than someone a decade younger? Shouldn’t they, by default, be the expert? Why was I the one staying abreast of these tools when I no longer even used them hands-on?

Let me rewind a bit.

What we think mentorship looks like

When I began my career in public affairs, I was convinced I was one mistake away from getting fired. That fear drove the way I engaged with my boss, and with the more experienced senior people around me.

I believed in a certain transaction: I would offer value in exchange for mentorship. Every time my boss gave me his time, I would repay him with effort, knowledge, or some insight that made his job easier.

For me, this meant mastering the tools of the trade. If there was a new technology or a faster way of working, I made it my business to know it. It was a point of pride. And perhaps, somewhere along the way, it became an expectation I started projecting onto others.

Now, years later, I’m sometimes the one in the mentor role. And, if I’m honest, I still expect this dynamic to work the same way— I want to be on the receiving end of that exchange.

I used to think mentorship was a one-way street—I’d (try to) offer value, and my boss would offer guidance. But the best mentorship relationships I’ve benefited from are cycles, where knowledge flows in both directions.

So why did I get frustrated in that moment? Ego.

Ego is the enemy

In his book Ego is the Enemy, Ryan Holiday talks about the dangers of assuming we know more than we do.

The pretense of knowledge is our most dangerous vice, because it prevents us from getting any better. Studious self-assessment is the antidote.

—Ryan Holiday

And yet, in the moment I got that late-night call, I fell into precisely that trap. I had the answer, and it seemed so obvious that I judged my younger colleague for not knowing it already.

Which of course, is a petulant reaction to have. That’s precisely the role I’m expected to play: to spot the quick solve. Had this person not called me, the team would have spun their wheels for 10 hours. And then I’d be even more frustrated.

They made the right call, literally.

What I missed was their courage and humility. They called not as an expert but as a student—willing to put their ego aside and ask for help. In contrast, I put my ego on a pedestal.

I came into that interaction expecting to be presented with a difficult problem to solve. When the solution seemed so obvious, I got judgy. “Why don’t they know this already??” Can you think a better way to destroy a relationship with a colleague than to commit this sin?

My colleague didn’t call me with the pretense of knowledge. They called me as a student. And the power of being a student is that it places the ego in someone else’s hands. In this case, they put their ego in my hands. And I failed to be delicate with it.

Because in truth, in that moment, yes, I had more knowledge. But on a totally different technical question, they would have had the knowledge. In fact, this same person has a fountain of knowledge I’ve barely tapped into.

On a different day, with a different question, I might be the one calling them.

Become a student

And so, whether by accident or intention, and even though it took me a couple hours to learn my lesson, I came to realize that I’m still the student.

How often do we let ego block the flow of knowledge and collaboration in our teams? I’m afraid to say, in my case, it’s more often than I’d like to admit.

Next time, I’ll remind myself to pause, recognize the courage it takes to ask for help, and approach the conversation as a fellow student, not a judge. Because the truth is, the best teams are the ones everyone feels safe to learn, to get curious, make mistakes, and know they won’t be judged in the process. Ego, on the other hand, gets in the way.

So, when was the last time you set aside your expertise, approached a colleague with curiosity, and became the student?