The Value of the Naysayer
When I was a young, up-and-coming journalist in Los Angeles, I took part in a mentoring program. The program paired minority journalists at the start of their careers with veterans who, ostensibly, would offer guidance and valuable advice for a successful future in the business.
I recall the first (and last) conversation I had with my mentor, an older white male. He asked me about my five-year plan: “I want to be an editor at a national magazine,” I told him. His response? “That’s not a realistic goal.” I remember him telling me how difficult and challenging the publishing business was and that what I wanted was simply not achievable. I thanked him for his advice.
One month later, I packed a suitcase and a few belongings (Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and a VHS of Silence of the Lambs included—don’t ask) and drove my little red Neon from Los Angeles to New York City—during the blizzard of ’96, no less. I experienced the most beautiful sunsets in Phoenix; sat on the banks of the Rio Grande in Truth or Consequences, NM; braved small-town gas stations in northern Texas (folks there had never seen a black person up close); survived an accident with an 18-wheeler (and the fright of an Oklahoma Sheriff’s inquisition in the back seat of his squad car); and nearly wiped out on the Jersey Turnpike.
Three years later, I was a staff editor at a national magazine. Today, I am the editor in charge of technology coverage for Black Enterprise magazine and pursuing a doctorate in English lit.
What’s my point? Sometimes the best motivation for success comes from those who tell you you can’t. Had I listened to my “mentor” and not relied on my confidence in my talent, who knows where I would be.
This isn’t to say that he was totally wrong; in fact, he was correct in some respects. This is a tough business. I struggled when I arrived in New York City, jobless and unknown to anyone in publishing. Different city, different attitude, different culture. There were many days of low-paying jobs, $3 sushi lunches, and long work hours fueled only by coffee and a seemingly unending monotony.
But my “mentor” did me a big favor. He had pissed me off. As a young, black, immigrant woman growing up in South Central Los Angeles, I had had a lifetime of hearing what I could not do, be, or achieve. This conflicted with what I got at home from my Jamaican parents—that in fact, I could do, be, and achieve whatever I wanted, and they fully supported me. I also knew that I was talented and inventive. I had a plan A, B, and C (and subsets, A1, B17, etc.), just in case.
I didn’t feel I had anything to prove to anyone, but I knew that I was smart and talented.
I also recognized quickly what works in my industry: trust. By this, I mean a strong network of colleagues who know, value and can speak honestly about your work. A big part of my “success” has come from developing great relationships with writers, editors, art, IT folks, PR professionals and a host of others. I don’t mean the hob-nobbing, drink-grabbing kind of networking, but the practice of building relationships that are about the honest exchange of intelligent ideas and respect.
So, while I wouldn’t necessarily go out of my way to hang out with the Debbie Downers, they serve a purpose. They can make you look deep to your core strengths and work hard to make things happen for you.
