Legacy of Purpose: Farewell to a Mentor Who Shaped My Path

On a scorching summer morning, I stood in my role as an Operations Supervisor at the Postal Service. It marked the midpoint of my two-decade career journey, during which I had spent several years as a supervisor. However, the truth was undeniable — I was trapped in misery. My routine revolved around arriving at the office by 5:30 am, overseeing mail clerks, addressing customer calls, and managing mail carrier sick calls. You see, when a carrier calls out sick, unlike most jobs, the route still has to get delivered that day. Which meant that if I couldn’t find someone to cover the route, I was the one delivering the route. Frequently, I found myself discarding my tie, slinging on a mail satchel, and joining my fellow mail carriers to deliver mail until the evening hours.

Though grateful for my job, the disheartening reality was that my career had veered off course at some point. There was no way I could sustain this for another 20 or 30 years. One scorching August morning, six consecutive sick calls pushed me to the brink. As I gazed out over the bustling work floor, I contemplated quitting. I got up from my desk, walked out of the building and sat in my car, pondering the possibility of driving away and never looking back. In that moment of uncertainty, I picked up my phone and called my mentor, JB.

JB, a retired executive who I came to know as a mentor, had a profound impact on countless young men through his steadfast wisdom. He epitomized an old-school approach, and often was blunt and to the point in his guidance. His calmness and steadiness amidst chaos was an inspiration to me and an approach I aspired to emulate in my leadership journey.

That day sitting in my car, seeking JB’s counsel for encouragement, I voiced my misery and the sense that my talents and gifts were being squandered as a postal supervisor. In response, JB told me to pause, take a few breaths and then redirected me with a question that redefined my perspective:

“Did you know that your current position does not determine your purpose? Consider this: What is your purpose, and how can you fulfill it where you are right now?”

I pondered his question and was utterly amazed by its depth. After a moment, I replied, “I’ve consistently sensed that my purpose revolves around helping others. The exact manner in which I’m meant to help them isn’t entirely clear, but the certainty remains — I am destined to make a difference in their lives somehow.”

He then imparted this advice: “Every day when you step into work, regardless of the depth of your dissatisfaction or the weight of loathing you bear for your current job, I urge you to intentionally seek out a fellow employee within your workplace who requires assistance. Go beyond the ordinary and make an exceptional effort to help them.”

I must admit, his counsel wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I had hoped for him to endorse my desire to quit the postal service and urge me to seek new employment. However, his response was quite different. As my mentor, his responsibility was not to tell me what I WANTED to hear, but what I NEEDED to hear.

In the ensuing weeks, I diligently followed my mentor’s counsel. Despite my discontent with my current role, I proactively sought opportunities to extend a helping hand to my colleagues, consistently going beyond the call of duty. It was tough, but I followed through each and every day.

Then, early one morning while on duty as a supervisor, I received a phone call from a U.S. Postal Inspector. Postal Inspectors are federal law enforcement agents tasked with safeguarding the integrity of the mail system and its workforce. This particular Inspector informed me of an ongoing investigation involving a specific package. He had noticed that tracking information suggested the package had arrived at our post office for delivery that morning. He shared the tracking number for the package and made a humble request: could I attempt to locate the package before it reached the postal carrier for delivery? I readily agreed to assist.

At 5 am, the dawn light barely breaking, I found myself amidst the mail handlers looking for this package. Gazing at the three vast bins housing a multitude of parcels awaiting sorting, I recognized my mission. The theme from “Mission: Impossible” played humorously in my mind as I prepared to spend the upcoming hours sifting through hundreds of parcels, all in pursuit of a single package.

The endeavor consumed about two hours of diligent effort as I meticulously sifted through the parcels. And then, at the conclusion of the third bin, a sense of triumph surged within me — I had found the package bearing the tracking number provided by the Inspector. I then called the Inspector to advise him of the good news. An hour later, he arrived at the post office to collect the package with gratitude.

During our conversation, he inquired about my career aspirations. In response, I candidly shared, “I don’t believe I will make it another three decades as a postal supervisor. If ever an opportunity emerges within the Inspection Service, I’d be interested.” He assured me that if such an opening arose, he would pass along my name.

As months passed, I persisted in my daily routine, driven by the search for that one person to help, even as my dissatisfaction lingered. Then one day, I recieved a phone call from another Postal Inspector who had received my name as a potential candidate for a special detail assignment. This assignment, a temporary detail at the Career Development Unit (CDU) in Potomac, MD, offered a chance to engage in some paraprofessional HR work at the academy responsible for training Postal Inspector recruits. Eagerly, I embraced this opportunity.

Upon joining the CDU for my detail, my enthusiasm surged. Fully immersed in the process of watching Postal Inspectors and Postal police officers evolution through their basic training to sworn law enforcement officers, a profound connection took root within me. Moreover, the paraprofessional HR tasks I undertook helped me realize that I enjoyed HR work. During this period, a moment of realization emerged: my true purpose lay in helping others as an HR professional.

As the temporary assignment drew to a close, I transitioned back to an HR role within the Postal Service, and the rest, as they say, became history. Fueled by newfound determination, I pursued further education, successfully completing both my bachelor’s and master’s degrees. Now, after years dedicated to HR work, I stand certain in my purpose as an HR professional helping others. This realization, this sense of purpose, may have never happened if not for the influence of my mentor, JB, whose unwavering encouragement and steadfast guidance was invaluable.

In the recent days, news reached me that JB had passed away in the comfort of his home. He died after a brief illness surrounded by his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren whom he loved dearly. In his later years JB was a fairly private man, he had no social media presence. However, if you looked for him you would find him counseling men at every opportunity. He lived many years in retirement serving his purpose-helping others. His passing weighed heavily on me, for he was a man I held in the highest esteem and cherished deeply. The last interaction I had with him was through a card he sent me upon the culmination of my master’s degree last year. The only words he wrote in the card were, “Tell me why I’m not surprised? Well done. Well done, indeed.” He had an innate understanding that this choice of words would make me smile, a testament to his thoughtful nature.

What set JB apart as an exceptional mentor was his tailored approach — his encouragement and guidance were far from being one-size-fits-all. He took the time to truly understand me as his mentee, delivering advice precisely attuned to my needs in critical moments, prodding me to embrace challenges and foster growth.

I had the honor of attending his funeral, where a staggering number of attendees spoke to his impact. The crowd wasn’t solely comprised of family; it was interspersed with the faces of the men he had mentored throughout his lifetime.

A wise man recently told me that in life, we die two deaths. In the first, our body physically dies on this earth, and the second death is the last time someone speaks our name. No doubt, JB’s name will be spoken for many years to come.

In the recent days, as I composed this article, a young man made contact with me seeking my guidance. He stood at a similar crossroads in his career that I once faced as a tormented postal supervisor. He candidly shared his struggles, confessing his disillusionment with his current job, and asserting an unshakable belief that his gifts and talents were destined for a more meaningful purpose. The uncanny resemblance to my own journey was both striking and humbling.

As I listened to him, I channeled my inner JB, and said to him: “Did you know that your current position does not determine your purpose? Consider this: What is your purpose, and how can you fulfill it where you are right now?”

The young man looked at me with a puzzled expression. The advice I offered wasn’t the guidance he wanted to hear, yet it was precisely what he needed to hear at that precise moment. Our conversation continued, allowing me to delve deeper into his circumstances. Armed with insight about him, I tailored my advice to suit his unique situation. As we wrapped up our conversation I sensed that he was grappling with the challenge my words presented. My heartfelt wish is that he embraces the challenge, much like a young man I once knew did, many years ago.

In the end, JB taught me that finding passion and happiness can be great, but finding purpose can be life changing and more fulfilling in the long run. JB’s mentorship changed my life. Without it, I might never have unearthed my true purpose as an HR professional dedicated to extending a helping hand whenever it’s needed.

I wish I could call him right now and thank him for being my mentor and changing my life for the better. If he were here right now, he’d probably tell me not to waste my time thanking him, instead get busy helping others. I suppose I will just write it here instead.

Farewell, JB. Thank you, I will never forget you.

Well done. Well done, indeed, my dear friend. Until we meet again.