At a certain point in our lives, the question shifts. It’s no longer “How do I get better at what I do?” It becomes “How do I make sense of everything I’ve done?”
In my work as an executive coach, I often ask people — especially those in the middle or later stages of their higher education careers — one simple question:
What would it take for you to become a wisdom worker?
It usually lands. Not because people have a ready answer, but because they recognize something in it.
For many of us in campus careers, we’ve spent years developing what psychologists call fluid intelligence: learning, achieving, building, solving. We get good at things. We accumulate knowledge. We move forward. We advance.
But over time, something else becomes available to us. A different kind of intelligence.
One that isn’t about adding more, but about integrating what’s already there.
Our experiences.
Our successes and disappointments.
The roles we’ve held.
The moments that shaped us.
This is where wisdom begins — not as a function of age or title, but as a function of connection. The ability to make meaning from the full arc of our lives.
And yet, wisdom doesn’t just appear. It has to be accessed.
In the closing chapters of my book, I describe six pillars that help bring that wisdom into focus — three that shape who we are, and three that shape how we show up in the world.
The first three are deeply internal:
Presence.
The ability to be fully with the moment and with the person right in front of you. Not distracted, not performing, not rushing ahead. Just there. It sounds simple, but it’s increasingly rare. And unforgettable when we experience it.
Perspective.
The discipline of seeing beyond our first reaction. To step back, widen the lens, and consider that there may be multiple ways to understand what’s happening. Wisdom lives in the pause between stimulus and response.
Equanimity.
The steadiness to navigate highs and lows without being defined by either. To stay grounded in the midst of uncertainty, disappointment, or change—and to keep moving forward with clarity.
These are not traits we perform. They’re foundations we stand on.
But wisdom doesn’t stop there.
It becomes visible in how we move through the world.
Elasticity.
A willingness to keep growing, even when we no longer have to. To say yes to new challenges, to stretch beyond what’s comfortable, to resist the quiet drift into stagnation.
Belonging.
The ability to make others feel seen, valued, and at home. Not as a strategy, but as a way of being. The leaders — and people — we remember most are often those who made us feel like we mattered.
Generativity.
Perhaps the most powerful of all. The shift from focusing on our own success to investing in what comes next. Creating opportunities, building systems, mentoring others — not for recognition, but because it’s time.
What strikes me most after years of this work is this: Wisdom is not a private achievement. It’s something that is felt by others.
It shows up in the tone we set — in conversations, in relationships, in how we handle complexity, and in how we treat people when it matters most.
Long after roles end and titles fade, that tone remains.
Which raises a different kind of question for all of us, regardless of where we are in our lives or careers:
Not “What have I accomplished?”
But “What did it feel like to be around me?”
Because in the end, that may be the clearest expression of the wisdom we’ve worked so hard to earn. And the legacy we continue to shape.
