The World Doesn’t Need Another Me

When I coach younger advisors, I always tell them the same thing:

It’s one of those lines that people tend to remember. They nod. Sometimes they even write it down. But the reason I say it isn’t because it sounds good. I say it because I lived it.

I learned this lesson a long way from Wall Street.

I was a voice performance minor, and one of my required classes was conducting. I never thought I would ever use anything I learned in this class in my professional career. However, what I learned ended up shaping just about everything I do.

The class was taught by Dr. Reed, who was equal parts maestro and magician. The way he could draw sound out of an orchestra or choir was mesmerizing. Every movement of his hands had intent. Every moment had shape.

Naturally, all of us tried to mimic him.

We stood in front of the class, batons in hand, mirroring his technique exactly. The stance, the arm motion, the posture all looked just like Dr. Reed. But when we tried to conduct, it fell flat. We couldn’t make the music move the way he did. It didn’t breathe. It didn’t build.

We looked like him.
But we didn’t sound like him.

It wasn’t until much later in the semester that things started to change. We began to let go of rigid imitation and develop our own interpretation. Still grounded in the fundamentals, but no longer limited by mimicry.

I remember the moment when it finally clicked: one of my classmates stepped up to conduct a piece we had all rehearsed a dozen times. But that time, something was different. His movements weren’t perfect, but they were his. The choir responded. The sound opened up.

The music finally came alive.

And I thought to myself: That’s what it means to lead.

Not to copy. Not to conform. But to integrate what you’ve learned into a style that is unmistakably your own.

That experience shaped the way I approach nearly everything in my professional life. Especially when it comes to mentoring younger advisors.

Early in your career, in almost any field, imitation is a powerful tool. It’s how we learn. You find someone you respect and you watch them closely. You adopt their habits. You borrow their scripts. You even absorb their mannerisms without realizing it.

But there comes a point when imitation stops being a tool and starts becoming a trap.

Because the goal isn’t to become your mentor.
The goal is to become yourself.

I’ve seen a lot of talented people stall out not because they lacked skills, but because they were afraid to let go of the script. They didn’t trust their instincts yet. They thought success meant sounding like someone else.

And who could blame them? Most industries are filled with unspoken pressure to conform and managers who lack the ability to allow people to develop into themselves. You’re rewarded for following the playbook, for checking the boxes, for staying in your lane.

But the people who ultimately stand out (the ones clients trust, the ones who build real momentum) are the ones who eventually step off the path just enough to make it theirs.

They learn to conduct.

They don’t abandon the fundamentals. But they stop treating them like a cage.

Instead, the framework becomes a foundation stable enough to build on but flexible enough to personalize.

And that’s when things get interesting.

That’s when you stop sounding like everyone else.
That’s when your relationships deepen.
That’s when people start saying, “There’s something about the way you do it.”

That’s the moment I want for everyone I am able to coach.

Because it’s not about making clones. It’s about helping people find their voice inside the discipline. The work requires structure, but within that structure, there’s room for breath. For creativity. For presence.

That’s where your power is.

So yes, learn everything you can. Study the pros. Take notes. Ask questions. Try it their way first.

But then, slowly and deliberately begin to make it your own.

Because no matter how good your imitation is, the world doesn’t need another version of someone else.

It needs the absolute best version of you.

And the music won’t come alive until you let yourself conduct it.