Last Week
Last week I told you about Off-Topic Verbosity. In this scientifically documented condition, older people wander from topic to topic because our brains have too many connections firing at once.
I told you about WAIT and WAIST. The CIA’s reminder to ask yourself, before speaking: Why Am I Talking? And if you’ve been going for a while: Why Am I Still Talking?
This week, I want to tell you what happens when you stop talking and start listening. When you realize your job isn’t to have all the answers but to help someone else find theirs.
I want to tell you about becoming a Sherpa.
Through Another Lens is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Scott’s Backyard
Eleven years ago, I spent a day with Scott.
His place. Backyard on the river. One of those properties where the land slopes down, and you realize the water has been there the whole time, you just couldn’t see it from the house.
A fire pit — not a decorative one, one of the big ones you can sit around for hours without running out of warmth or conversation.
We started in the morning. Coffee, lots of it. The kind of day where you know you’re not going anywhere and nobody’s expecting you anywhere else.
We talked about everything. Business — the businesses we’d built, the ones that failed, the lessons that only landed years after the failure. Family — the complicated parts, the parts that didn’t make sense, the parts we were still figuring out.
Four or five hours in, the fire had burned down to coals. We’d been through silence and stories and back to silence again.
Then Scott stopped mid-sentence. Looked at me differently.
“You know,” he said, “I got it. I know exactly what you are.”
I waited.
“You’re a Sherpa.”
Two Weeks Ago
I took that word at face value. I liked it. It felt right — the way certain words do when they land on something true.
I wore it for a decade without really unpacking why.
Then, two weeks ago, something clicked.
I was thinking about the work I do now — the speakers I’ve helped over the years, the founders I’ve advised, the people I’ve sat with in moments of transition. And I realized I’d been doing Sherpa work all along without understanding what made it different from coaching, consulting, or mentoring.
What a Sherpa Is Not
Let me start with what a Sherpa is not.
A Sherpa is not a pack mule. If you think the role is to carry someone else’s weight so they don’t have to, you’ve missed it entirely.
A Sherpa is not a slave. The history of Himalayan expeditions has some ugly chapters — Western climbers treating Sherpas as expendable labor, as a means to an end. That’s exploitation, not partnership.
A Sherpa is not a replacement for your own effort. If you hire a Sherpa thinking someone else will do the hard work for you, you’ll die on that mountain.
What a Sherpa Is
So what is a Sherpa?
Start with this: They help people climb the highest mountains on the planet.
Not metaphorical mountains. Not “the mountain of launching a startup” or “the mountain of getting through divorce.” Actual mountains. The ones that kill people.
Sherpas have done it enough to know the route.
Not just once. Not just their own climb. They’ve been up and down these peaks dozens of times. Hundreds of times. They know every ridge, every crevasse, every spot where the avalanche danger spikes.
They know how to hold space for you to be successful.
This is the part that took me eleven years to understand. Holding space doesn’t mean solving your problems. It means creating the conditions where you can solve them yourself.
They know when you’re going to need oxygen.
Before your lips go blue. Before you start slurring your words. Before you make the decision to push on when you should turn back. The Sherpa has seen enough climbers to recognize the signs.
What I’ve Climbed
Let me tell you about the mountains I’ve climbed.
Forty-one years ago, I co-founded a software company called Wavefront Technologies. We made 3D animation and visual effects software. You’ve seen our work even if you don’t know it — Terminator 2, Jurassic Park, Toy Story.
We won an Academy Award for Technical Achievement. Got acquired by SGI. Became part of Alias|Wavefront, which became Autodesk Maya, which is still the industry standard today.
That was one mountain.
TEDxSantaBarbara was another. I’ve been producing it since 2010. Over 250 talks. 36.5 million views. Watching speakers go from terrified to transcendent.
That was another mountain.
And now this. Coastal Intelligence. The AI implementation work. Helping organizations build Trust Stacks before they build Tech Stacks.
Different peaks. Same altitude.
A Strange Time for Elders
We’re living in a strange time for elders.
On one hand, we’re more connected than ever. We have more access to information, more platforms for sharing what we’ve learned, and more opportunities to stay engaged.
On the other hand, we’re often invisible. The culture worships youth, disruption, and the new. Experience is seen as baggage. “Move fast and break things” doesn’t leave much room for “slow down and understand why it broke last time.”
And yet.
There’s something elders have that no amount of hustle can replicate. We’ve actually been up the mountain. Not in theory. Not in case studies. In our own bodies, with our own fear, making our own decisions when the stakes were real.
How to Become a Sherpa
So, how do you become a Sherpa?
First, you have to have climbed the mountain.
Not read about it. Not studied it from a distance. Actually climbed it. With your own legs, your own lungs, your own fear and determination, and moments of doubt.
This is where embodied knowledge matters. You can’t Sherpa someone through grief if you’ve never lost anyone. You can’t Sherpa someone through a startup if you’ve never bet your savings on an idea that might not work. The knowledge has to be in your bones, not just your brain.
Second, you have to be willing to serve.
The Sherpa role is fundamentally about someone else’s climb, not yours. The climber gets to the summit. The climber gets the photo at the top. The Sherpa’s name rarely makes the story.
You have to be okay with that.
Third, you have to know when to speak and when to stay silent.
This is where WAIT and WAIST come back in. The Sherpa doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t monologue. The Sherpa observes. Assesses. Asks questions. And speaks when speaking will actually help — not before.
Fourth, you have to care about their success more than your own comfort.
Sometimes the Sherpa role requires hard conversations. Telling someone they’re not ready. Telling them to turn back when they desperately want to push forward. Telling them the truth they don’t want to hear.
A Sherpa who only tells you what you want to hear is not a Sherpa at all — they’re a cheerleader.
The Challenge
Think about who’s climbing around you right now.
The entrepreneur who just got their first term sheet and has no idea what they’re signing.
The mid-career professional facing a pivot they didn’t plan for.
The person dealing with loss who can’t see any path forward.
You’ve climbed those mountains. Maybe not the exact same peak. Maybe not the same conditions. But you’ve been at altitude. You know what thin air feels like. You know what it’s like when your body wants to quit, and your mind has to take over.
You know where the oxygen is stashed.
The Word That Waits
Here’s the final thing I want to say.
Eleven years ago, Scott saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. He gave me a word — Sherpa — that took a decade to understand.
That’s what words can do. They can name something true before you’re ready to unpack it. They can sit with you, patiently, waiting for the moment when you finally see what they were pointing to all along.
Maybe there’s someone in your life who needs a word like that. Someone who is already a Sherpa but doesn’t know it yet. Someone who’s been climbing mountains their whole life and hasn’t realized they could help others climb too.
Maybe you could be the one to tell them.
“I know exactly what you are.”
And then watch them spend the next ten years figuring out what it means.
This is Part Two of “What Elders Know.” Part One, “WAIT. WAIST.,” explored Off-Topic Verbosity and the CIA’s technique for knowing when to stop talking.
Thanks for reading Through Another Lens! This post is public, so feel free to share it.
