I've been wondering why certain moments stay with us for decades while others fade almost as quickly as they happen. The older I get, the more I think it has less to do with what was said and more to do with what was modeled. Looking back, I can point to a handful of moments that quietly changed the way I think. At the time, they seemed like ordinary days. In hindsight, they updated my operating system.
One of those moments happened early in my career. I was sitting in a conference room with the senior financial executives of a multi-billion dollar company. I was young, eager, and ambitious. At that time, I had enough confidence to speak up but not enough experience to realize what I didn't know. As we worked through a difficult issue, I boldly recommended a course of action that I believed was the right one.
It wasn't.
The room reacted quickly. As the discussion turned into criticism, I could feel the weight of my mistake settle. Before it went further, my boss, Rich, stepped in. He took responsibility for the recommendation and redirected the conversation. He knew it had been my idea, and so did I. But in that moment, he chose to absorb the criticism himself rather than let a young employee be defined by a mistake in front of the executive team.
Later that day, we closed the door to his office.
This time there was no audience.
He walked me through exactly where my thinking had gone wrong and why my recommendation would have created bigger problems than the one we were trying to solve. He didn't soften the lesson, and he didn't spare my feelings. He expected more of me because he believed I was capable of more.
Years later, I realized what he'd done.
He had protected my dignity in public and corrected my thinking in private.
I've never forgotten either gift.
That day changed more than my understanding of the problem we were discussing. It changed the way I understood how people grow. Until then, I thought the people I admired simply knew more than everyone else. I began to see that they weren't valuable because they had all the answers. They were valuable because they changed the way other people thought.
I've been fortunate to have many mentors. Some challenged my assumptions. Others broadened my perspective. A few changed my life simply by the way they carried themselves. Looking back, I don't remember every piece of advice they gave me, but I remember how they made me think differently. Each time I accepted their advice, I wasn't just learning something new. I was quietly updating the operating system through which I would make thousands of future decisions.
Of course, mentors can only offer the update. We have to choose to install it.
I could have walked out of Rich's office embarrassed, defensive, and convinced he just didn't understand my idea. Instead, I chose to sit with the discomfort and learn from it. Looking back, that may have been the more important decision. The lesson was offered. Growth came from accepting it.
I wonder if that's what separates people who continue to grow from those who slowly stop. It isn't that one group is smarter or more talented. They simply remain teachable. They welcome people who challenge their thinking, expose their blind spots, and help them see what they couldn't see on their own.
Lately, I've been asking myself a question. After all these years, am I still as teachable as I was when I was twenty-five? Do I still seek out people who will tell me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear? Am I still willing to let someone else improve the way I think?
I hope so.
Because when I look back over my life, the moments that shaped me most weren't the ones where I had all the answers. They were the moments when someone cared enough to challenge the answers I already had.
Those moments didn't just teach me something.
They changed the person who would make every decision that followed.
Growth isn't a lesson. It's an update.
Randall Yang Co-Founder & CEO, BuildLogIQ