Before I Knew What a Mentor Was, I Had Auntie Diane

Sometimes the first person who shows us what's possible changes the trajectory of our lives

Long before I knew what the word "mentor" meant, I had one.

My Auntie Diane.

Diane is my dad's sister, and when I was a little girl, I thought she was just about the coolest person on the planet.

She was the first person on my dad's side of the family to go to college. She attended Cal Poly Pomona for her undergraduate degree and then went on to USC Pharmacy School.

To little-girl me, this was about as impressive as it got.

When she was in pharmacy school, she would come home to my grandparents' house, where I often stayed while they watched me. I remember looking at her and thinking she was an absolute superstar.

She drove a really cool sports car.

She had amazing clothes.

She always looked fashionable and put together.

But most importantly to me, she went to college.

I was fascinated by college before I could possibly understand what it actually meant.

While other little girls might have played school or house, I played college.

I would dress up in Auntie Diane's old clothes and pretend I was going off to USC. I cheered for USC whenever I saw them playing on television for one simple reason: that was where Auntie Diane went.

And if Auntie Diane went to college, I was going to college too.

I couldn't wait.

Looking back now, I realize she gave me something incredibly important without ever sitting me down and intentionally trying to give it to me.

She showed me what was possible.

I saw a woman in my own family pursue an education, build a successful career, get married and become a mother.

Because I could see her doing it, I could imagine myself doing it too.

Eventually, I did.

I went to college. I went on to graduate school. I built a career I am incredibly proud of. I got married and became a mom.

As a little girl playing college in my aunt's clothes, I couldn't have known exactly what my own life would look like.

But I could picture a future for myself because someone I loved had already shown me one.

As I've gotten older, though, the reasons I admire Auntie Diane have changed.

Education and career accomplishments are wonderful, but life eventually reveals much more about a person than a diploma or a job title ever could.

Diane and my Uncle Mike had two children, my cousins, whom she raised with tremendous love. Tragically, Mike died when their children were still very young.

Watching Diane experience such an enormous loss and somehow continue moving forward gave me an entirely different understanding of strength.

There is the kind of strength that helps you pursue a degree or build a career.

And then there is the kind of strength required to rebuild a life you never imagined having to rebuild.

I watched her do that.

She continued raising her children, who have grown into wonderful adults. She eventually found love again, remarried and built another chapter of her life.

Seeing her happy today makes me incredibly happy.

We don't see each other nearly as often as I would like. Life gets busy. Families grow. Careers and responsibilities take us in different directions.

But distance and time don't diminish someone's influence on your life.

And Auntie Diane's influence on mine is immeasurable.

The older I get, the more I understand that mentoring doesn't always happen through formal programs, scheduled meetings or carefully crafted advice.

Sometimes mentoring happens simply because someone is watching you.

A little girl might be watching you go to college.

She might be trying on your old clothes.

She might be cheering for your school on television.

She might be imagining herself doing the things she sees you doing.

And you may have absolutely no idea.

Today, mentoring is one of the most meaningful parts of my own life. I spend a lot of time thinking about how I can support other women, young professionals and people coming behind me.

Only now do I fully appreciate that I had an extraordinary example of that long before I ever became a mentor myself.

Auntie Diane was my first mentor.

She was my first hero.

And she was one of the first people who showed me that I could have an education, a meaningful career, a family and a life that was entirely my own.

She also taught me something I couldn't have understood when I was a little girl wearing her clothes and pretending to go to USC.

Life won't always unfold the way we planned.

Strength isn't about avoiding heartbreak. Sometimes it is about finding a way forward after it.

And a life can have more than one beautiful chapter.

I hope Auntie Diane knows how much I have always admired her.

More importantly, I hope she knows that part of the woman I became exists because I had the privilege of watching the woman she was.

Before I knew what a mentor was, I had Auntie Diane.

And I will always be grateful that I did.