It Takes a Village

There are so many thoughts running through my head at this very moment. There has been a lot of change and uncertainty in my orbit as of late, and while this is not inherently a bad thing, it has brought me further into a place of reflection and introspection. It's often in these times when I get slapped upside the head with a lesson I need to hear.

When I became a father in 2020 I started listening to a podcast called Dad Tired. Even though I was excited to become a dad, I was anxious and terrified at the same time. I had a solid example in my own dad to look up to in my early years (and still today), and my anxiety rested in being that kind of example for my own son. I was seeking any and all resources to be the best version of a father figure, and while many offered what I'm sure was sage advice, much of this content felt judgmental and prescriptive. Dad Tired balanced spiritual guidance with a dose of reality. I soaked in as much as I could as fast as I could.

After months of bus rides and new episodes, I trailed away from listening to Dad Tired for about a year. But by some divine intervention, Spotify felt compelled to suggest it this morning as I stood at the bus stop half-awake and slightly chilly.

Today's episode asked a thought-provoking question: who were the father figures in your life who shaped your upbringing? And can you do the same for the next generation? As I mentioned earlier, I have a great dad, but the old adage of "it takes a village" comes to mind when I think back to the male role models I had growing up.

I think about the dad of one of my best friends. He was the type that didn't speak often but you never questioned his sincerity when he did. He ran a lawn mowing business on his off-time from the fire station and you could tell that he had pride in his work. He'd pick up pizza, take us camping, run to Family Video, or drive us to the mall. But one memory tells me everything I needed to know about the kind of man he was: I was spending the night at my friend's house, when late into the evening, his dad came home. His eyes were blood-shot, he was out of breath, and he barely said a word. I would later find out that he had spent a considerable amount of time fighting a fire that day, though I don't know the details of the kind of fire or who was impacted. He sat with us and watched a movie, undoubtedly reliving the details of what had just transpired again and again in his mind. But when he was home, spending time with the family was his priority. I didn't recognize this then, but I truly understand it now.

I also think of a pastor who could have as easily been a grandfather to me and my brother. Every Thursday morning he would roll up in the church van to our driveway, honk the horn for us to jump in, and drive us to school. He had a cassette of Carman in the tape deck that I swear played "Lazarus Come Forth" on repeat, lyrics that have been forever burned into my brain. He was the epitome of a morning person, gleefully yell-talking in a very preacher-esque way as we ate doughnuts and discussed a weekly group topic. We called it "Breakfast Club," and I had these words sewn onto the back of my high school letterman's jacket. What I lacked in athletic prowess I more than made up for in meaningful conversations, and that was only possible because of a man who made it a priority to serve others.

So why am I posting this on LinkedIn of all places? Because "it takes a village" can be adapted to numerous situations. I can see it in my own career with the people and examples I've met along this journey and the inevitable connections I have yet to make.

As a talent marketer, I often have to put myself into the shoes of another and ask the kinds of questions they would ask. If I decide to move to Indy, where will my kids go to school? What neighborhood will we live in? How will I find MY people? It reminds me over and over again that it takes a village. You rely on that village. They are as much a part of your family as those connected by blood. They are our source for social, emotional, spiritual, and tangible needs.

Finding or building this village is much more than a talent retention strategy; it's a commodity. And facilitating connections to help connect someone with potential members of their village is where prospective residents become life-long advocates. This is why I'm so excited about the potential for what the Life In Indy initiative can become. No matter the stage of life or career, we all need a village, and this platform can serve as a conduit. It starts with those willing to have a one-on-one conversation with a prospective resident as they decide whether Indy is the best choice for them, but it certainly does not end there.

I'll stop at this cliffhanger for things to come with Life In Indy to simply ask this: who were the individuals who helped positively shape your life, and how can you be that for someone else?