Guidance, Teachers, and Mentorship

For much of my life, I clung to the idea of self-reliance. My ego whispered that I had pulled myself out of the gutter on my own, overcome addiction without a mentor, and forged a path that required no guide. And to some extent, there’s truth in that. Taking complete ownership of my actions, my mistakes, and my choices was the first and most critical step in transformation. Pure self-responsibility was a foundation on which I built everything else.

But in time, I began to see the cracks in that narrative. I didn’t rise alone. I was raised by a strong family, surrounded by the structure of spirituality, exposed to books and philosophies that shaped my thinking. Without realizing it, I’d drawn strength and wisdom from countless teachers—whether they appeared in the form of authors, friends, or even strangers whose mistakes or virtues served as lessons.

It’s humbling to admit how wrong I was. The very idea of being “self-made” crumbles when I look back and see the web of influences that lifted me. The books I devoured became my silent mentors; the people around me, mirrors reflecting truths I didn’t always want to see. Even those who hurt me or angered me became teachers, showing me what I needed to change in myself.

One of the greatest lessons came from a moment of unexpected clarity. I sat down with a 19-year-old employee, intent on imparting wisdom to him. By the end of our conversation, it was I who walked away richer, having learned something profound from his perspective. In another instance, I ended a relationship because I believed I was a bad influence on her. Years later, her anger taught me that my intentions—however pure—might never be fully understood. These moments, and countless others, chipped away at my arrogance, reminding me that guidance often comes from the most unexpected sources.

The same has been true of the books that shaped me. The Four Agreements taught me to be impeccable with my word, to avoid assumptions, to not take things personally, and to always do my best—wisdom from an ancient tradition that found its way to me because someone, long forgotten, recommended it. Another book, Excuses Begone, held me accountable for years, steering my decisions long after I’d closed its pages. Works from spiritual traditions across the globe—Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Taoist—each left an indelible mark, offering pieces of a vast, interconnected truth.

Through it all, I’ve come to understand that mentorship is not confined to formal roles or titles. Life itself is a university, and its professors take many forms: people, books, experiences, and even our own failures. Sometimes, the most profound guidance comes not from what someone says or does, but from the awareness we cultivate within ourselves to recognize the lesson being offered.

What’s most profound is how the act of teaching others completes the cycle. In guiding someone, we hold ourselves to a higher standard. Sharing advice often feels like speaking to ourselves, calling us to rise to the ideals we preach. The student becomes the teacher, and the teacher, in turn, remains the student.

Looking back, I can no longer deny the need for guides, mentors, and teachers. They’re not signs of weakness but reminders of our humanity, of the interconnectedness that shapes us all. And beneath it all, I see the hand of God, weaving through every book, every conversation, every moment of growth. When we surrender to that higher guidance, we open ourselves to a love and wisdom greater than anything we could ever muster alone.

The light of guidance is everywhere, shining through situations, people, and even the quietest corners of our lives. All we need is the humility to see it and the courage to let it in.