What a celebration of life taught me about the careers most of us are building…

I showed up early to a celebration of life recently and told the widow, “I’m not sure the room’s going to be big enough.”

She awkwardly laughed it off (the way someone would do at a funeral). I wasn’t joking.

By the time it started, people were standing along the back and the staff was bringing in chairs. The room was completely packed – colleagues from 40 years ago, students and businesspeople he’d mentored, business partners, competitors he’d helped, people whose names I’m sure he remembered, because that’s who he was, and whose careers he’d changed with one conversation.

I’ve been to these events where you sit there wondering who the hell they’re talking about. Where the obituary lists accomplishments that sound impressive but hollow. Where the room has empty chairs.

This wasn’t that.

The Big Picture

The thing that hit me while sitting in that enormous crowd: Most of us are building careers nobody will show up for. Some of us are building lives in the same way.

Not because we’re bad people. Not because we’re unsuccessful. But because we’re climbing alone – and we think that’s what success looks like.

This man did something most people never figure out: as he climbed, he lifted others with him. He didn’t just build a career. He built a network of people who genuinely wanted to be there when he was gone. To remember him. To honour him. To share their stories of joy and accomplishment, attributed to him.

The Uncomfortable Truth

I watched speaker after speaker describe the same pattern: He made time for conversations that didn’t benefit him directly. He connected people who could help each other. He gave advice that cost him nothing but changed trajectories. He treated mentoring people like it was as important as landing clients.

And here’s what made me uncomfortable: I realized most of the engineers I know – myself included, for most of my career – do exactly the opposite.

We:

Guard our knowledge because it feels like our only competitive advantage

Skip the “unnecessary” coffee chats because we’re too busy

Help people only when there’s clear reciprocal value

Measure success by titles and comp, not by who we’ve brought along

Build technical excellence while our relationships stay transactional

We climb. We just don’t lift anyone with us.

Why This Matters To You

The man we celebrated wasn’t exceptional because of what he accomplished, though that was significant in itself. He was exceptional because of how many people genuinely considered him a friend.

That word kept coming up: friend. Not boss, not mentor, not advisor – though he was all those things. Friend.

I sat there running through my own mental list. How many professional relationships have I built that would survive me leaving the company? Changing industries? Being gone?

Not many. And I’m guessing you haven’t either. But I’ve been working on changing this.

Here’s the thing: You can’t build this on your deathbed. You can’t network your way into genuine relationships when you need them. This gets built through years of small choices – the coffee you make time for, the introduction you facilitate, the advice you give freely, the young person you actually invest in.

What Actually Changes This

I’m not going to give you five steps to transform your network or whatever. This isn’t that kind of advice.

But I will tell you what I noticed: The people in that room weren’t there because he was successful. They were there because he made them feel like their success mattered to him. That THEY mattered to him.

That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

When you help someone – actually help them, not in a transactional “I’ll-remember-this-favor” way – you’re building something that compounds. When you connect two people who should know each other, you’re creating value you’ll never see directly. When you take the meeting that doesn’t benefit you but might benefit them, you’re doing the work that shows up later.

Or doesn’t show up at all. Because here’s the other thing: He never knew how many lives he’d touched. His widow was surprised by the turnout. He just kept showing up as himself, being generous with his time and knowledge, treating people like they mattered.

The impact may have been invisible to him, but it was very visible to everyone else.

The Question You Need To Answer

So here’s what I’m asking you – and myself: When you’re gone, will the room be too small?

Not because you were the best engineer. Not because you shipped the most projects or made the most money. But because you actually gave a damn about the people around you and did something about it.

Most of us won’t pass that test right now. I don’t think I would.

But here’s the only good news: we still have time.