The architecture of potential – why mentoring is our 'chief want'

Skills may open doors, but it is our beliefs and values that determine how far we go, and mentoring, when done well, evolves alongside that journey, writes strategic communications practitioner Eliza Mohamed.

“Our chief want in life is somebody who will make us do what we can.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Recently, I attended a dear friend’s 50th birthday dinner. We have known each other for 15 years – a bond shaped over time by the demands of our respective industries, which has since become something closer to family.

We come from different backgrounds and spiritual beliefs, yet are anchored by shared values. As his wife said that evening, with understated certainty: “You know you are family if you are here tonight.” More than a few of us felt our eyes well up.

It was meant to be a surprise, and while he had his suspicions, what unfolded was more than a celebration. It became, in many ways, a reflection of a life shaped by people.

When he stood up to speak, he did not dwell on titles or milestones. Instead, he reflected on his journey, acknowledging many who had shaped it, while singling out two mentors who were present that night.

He took us back to his early days, when “toughing it out” meant doing whatever was required, including cutting newspaper clippings. It sounds mundane, almost trivial, but most of us who have been through those formative years understand that the tasks are rarely the point. The learning sits beneath them.

One of his mentors, Mr G, later shared those early assignments were never about the task itself, but about instilling discipline and shaping how someone shows up before deciding where they are going. More importantly, he saw something in my friend long before my friend could see it in himself.

That, perhaps, is the real work of a mentor – not simply to guide, but to recognise potential early and insist, sometimes gently and sometimes firmly, that it be realised. We often describe mentoring in generous terms, but it is not always straightforward. There is a delicate balance to strike.

Push too hard, and you risk resistance, particularly among a younger generation that values autonomy differently. Hold back too much, and you risk leaving potential untouched. It requires a kind of restraint – a willingness to give without expecting – which is also why mentoring within families can be complicated.

The emotional investment is deeper, and the instinct to shape or protect is stronger. Yet true mentoring, even as a parent, asks for something harder – to guide without imprinting too heavily.

I often tell my own children that I cannot decide what they choose to pursue, whether it is something traditional or something that did not exist even a decade ago. Whether you choose a technical craft, a professional field, or a creative path, what matters is how you show up in it – and whatever you do, you must strive to be excellent.

Kahlil Gibran captured this tension beautifully when he wrote: “You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts … You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.”

It is a reminder that while we can shape values, we cannot script lives.

What became clearer to me that night is that how we work often matters more than what we do. Skills may open doors, but it is our belief system and values that determine how far we go. Mentoring, when done well, evolves alongside that journey.

We tend to use the word as if it describes a single type of relationship, but in reality, it moves through stages.

It may begin as mentoring, where someone helps you sharpen your thinking and judgment. Over time, it becomes allyship, where they stand beside you and lend weight to your voice when it matters.

At its most powerful, it becomes sponsorship – when they speak for you in rooms you have not entered and place their reputation behind your readiness.

These are not labels so much as expressions of trust, and trust, like anything meaningful, is built over time.

A strong leader understands this fluidity. They know when to sit beside you and guide, and when to step ahead of you and advocate. What struck me most, sitting at that table, was that this is never a one-way exchange.

In my own journey, particularly through mentoring students and young professionals at the University of Leeds, I have experienced the reverse.

You begin thinking you are there to guide, but you leave, realising how much you have learned. This generation approaches risk, communication and identity differently, and understanding that has required me to remain curious, and at times, to unlearn.

It is a reminder that credibility today is not built on experience alone, but on the humility to keep listening.

Looking around that dinner table, I realised that none of us arrived at these milestones on our own. We are, in many ways, a reflection of those who chose to invest in us – the ones who saw more, expected more, and refused to let us settle for what was merely comfortable.

Which brings us back to Emerson’s truth. We all need someone who makes us do what we can, and perhaps, at some point, we are called to become that person for someone else.

When that happens, what we build goes beyond careers. We build continuity, we build trust, and sometimes, if we are fortunate, something that feels very much like family.

The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not represent that of Twentytwo13.