I’m always intrigued when people say they want a mentor but can’t seem to find one, which is what 62% of readers told InHerSight in a mentorship poll last month.
The very silly side of me imagines this dearth of wisdom as a societal crisis: a shortage of career sages to guide us along our paths. Someone notify LinkedIn immediately.
But the more realistic side recognizes the wish for what it is: a desire for someone to show you the way, perhaps even remove some of the discomfort and ambiguity by drawing on their own older, wiser, been-there-before experiences.
As someone who feels particularly restless in ambiguity, I understand the appeal. I also believe those types of mentors rarely exist. Most people, in my experience, are figuring things out as they go far, far later than we expect them to be.
You’re more likely, and perhaps better served, to find guidance among your peers. That’s the kind of mentorship that has been most impactful for me. In fact, it’s changed the way I pay attention to my peers’ work entirely.
To explain, you need to understand one thing. One of my earliest editors had a rule: Every time he edited my work, I had to push back on one change. A word, a comma, a structural edit. The scope didn’t matter to him. I just had to stand up for myself.
As a direct report, that had obvious merits. I became very comfortable sharing my opinion, seeing it rise or fall, and then doing it all over again.
Now, as a manager myself, I experience it from the opposite side. It’s humbling, naturally, to have someone—a freelancer, a direct report, a fellow leader—disagree with me. But it’s the right kind of humbling, because widening the perspective often makes the work better.
That context matters when it comes to peer mentorship, because I’ve come to realize that some of the most useful people to learn from aren’t necessarily the ones with more experience on paper. They’re the people with a distinct point of view or strengths in areas where I’m still growing. Learning from them means being willing to consider a different way of doing things, even when it isn’t the way I’d do them myself.
One of my favorite examples is my friend Lindsey, who often co-leads with me at the theater where we both volunteer. Together, we manage large crews and groups of actors through four-week stage productions. It’s a mix of operations, people management, and real-time problem-solving, and I’ve been lucky to partner with her for years.
But one interesting phenomenon of peer leadership is that you spend almost the entire time examining your own management style alongside that of your peer. You see your strengths side by side, where you’re similar and different, and what works for some people but not others.
If you’re not used to feeling humbled (see above), that can be intimidating. But if you’re open to it, it’s really cool, because you have an opportunity to grow simply by watching someone else.
A few months ago, during a show, I remember texting my best friend about the way Lindsey handled something. She’s really good at spotting patterns, trusting what she’s observed, and making independent decisions about how she feels. And because she stays true to herself, she moves forward a little more gracefully than I do sometimes. I really admire that about her. And I told my friend: “I’m going to practice that.”
And I have. I’ve also repeated this kind of study over and over again—not just with Lindsey. Sitting in another manager’s meeting, I’ll watch how they organize the time and take note of ideas I want to replicate. Or I’ll get a particularly thoughtful note from a freelancer and think, The way they reached out is different from how I normally would, but it really landed. I’m going to start doing this.
It’s become a kind of mental dog-earing of a page. And it’s started to creep into other areas of my life, too:
I like the way he spoke to me. I’m going to look for more people like him.
I like the way she navigated that. I’m going to work on responding that way.
They thought of the smartest idea. I’m going to do it that way, too.
None of this is to say that formal mentorship doesn’t have value. A more experienced mentor can offer context you simply haven’t accumulated yet, advocate for you in rooms you aren’t in, or help you see possibilities you wouldn’t have considered on your own. Even my editor example is a more traditional mentorship experience, and I’m really grateful he taught me self-advocacy and how to make space for disagreement.
But I’ve found that mentorship doesn’t have to hinge on one person with all the answers. Sometimes, it’s an ongoing practice of noticing what other people do well and letting yourself learn from it.
And no, that’s not the same as meeting someone 20 years your senior who’s done and been everything and can tell you exactly how not to fail. But it’s really eye-opening when you start noticing the ways people around you can help you grow.
Abundant, actually.
