Meteorship Programs

While many scurrying around certain nameless departments will have you believe that mentorship programs began with the advent of the dial-up modem, the real story is far richer. What would these people call Sherpas, leading jet-setting European novices, decked out in phosphorescent parkas with more trail mix than the planet has trails, up onerous Himalayan peaks into oxygen depleted euphoria? Sorry, but that’s what I call a mentor. Someone who’s looking out for you in the most intense of circumstances. Maybe it’s not one your university’s career office will find, but if you can’t learn life lessons at 28,000 feet above sea level, there’s no point in helping you down the mountain. You might as well take your boots off right there and have a snowball fight.  

Climbing Mount Everest is one of many examples of something that you cannot do alone. The stakes don’t have to be as high, of course. You can’t walk a dog alone. You can try, frolicking through neighborhoods with a leash and no pooch. See how long that lasts. You’ll end up getting more questions than you can answer. 

Personally, I find mentorship tricky. Maybe it’s the process that’s too daunting. The “hey, how are ya?” The fear of rejection is strong, although tension should be part of any productive relationship. You could adopt mentors from another time, like say, Sir Walter Raleigh or Marie Curie. But they won’t be as responsive as you probably need right now. 

I’ve replaced mentorship with something I call meteorship. Through a large telescope jutting out of my living room window, I scan the night sky looking for movement. Stars are too possessive and frankly, too old. They don’t do a lot, until their help is no longer needed. When trouble arises, they implode. What I like about using a passing meteor as a mentor is that I know most take on a pretty hands-off approach to counseling young recruits. However, should one show up on my doorstep, I’m prepared. This way, I’m not stressing over face-to-face meetings, trying to find the perfect thing to say. My whole goal is to get my career in a good place before that. Given their age, most meteorites are solid authority figures, though ones that I can still relate to. But they are a spontaneous bunch. Meteorship means accepting that your mentor may arrive tomorrow, in ten years or in another epoch. They are on a different path, which of course, gives them the proper perspective that earthbound mentors can’t possibly possess.   

I should caution you. I’m not the first living thing to get their life goals blown up by sudden mentorship.