When I first started as a director of an ambulatory surgery center (ASC), I was young, new, and unsure of myself. Our practice had multiple clinic sites but just two surgery centers, and for most of my 12 years there, those two centers were connected by a shared phone system. All I had to do was pick up the phone, dial an extension, and the other director would be on the line.
What made that connection even more meaningful was that the centers were 80 miles apart. We rarely saw each other in person. In fact, over 12 years, we met face to face only a handful of times. What grew between us was a professional relationship and friendship built almost entirely through daily phone calls.
He was an experienced nurse, steady and sure of himself, with a gift for conversation and a quiet confidence that only comes from years of doing the work well. I admired him before I even really knew him. In those early days, when the phone would ring and his name appeared on the screen, a part of me worried that he would see through my uncertainty and figure out that I did not belong there.
But that never happened. Those calls became the beginning of a long stretch of mentorship, guidance, and friendship. Over time, that nervousness gave way to trust, laughter, shared strategy, and mutual support.
If my career had a transcript, it would be written in phone calls. Some days, when the phone rang, I was in the middle of staffing problems, surgeon frustrations, or endless to-do lists. I would think, I will call him back when things calm down. Other times, I answered right away, and we would talk for an hour or two about work, life, family, or simply how to get through the day.
He was the kind of leader who ran a tight ship but always with grace. His staff respected him. He knew how to let politics roll off his back, when to hold firm, and when to pull back and punt.
He could admit when he was wrong, course-correct without ego, and celebrate wins both big and small.
There was a time when we shared the same medical director, someone who truly had our backs. That period felt like a deep breath for both of us. Even in tougher seasons, through leadership changes and competing priorities, the phone still rang. It was our way to talk through problems, sanity check each other, or simply be heard. There was something powerful in having someone who could see your missteps in real time and help you navigate them without judgment.
There were days filled with heavy laughter, sharing a win, or retelling a ridiculous story from a meeting. There were sad days, days of worry and anger, and days when something happened to one of us that was not fair but was simply business.
And then there were the missed moments. Those are the ones I think about the most now. The times I did not answer because I was buried in a crisis, or because my social battery had run out. The times I thought I would call back later but never did. I wonder how many times he felt the same way, busy or tired, and picked up anyway.
I used to wonder about the mistakes I made back then: the moments where I took the wrong step, forgot something, or decided too quickly. I would ask myself whether those situations might have turned out differently had I taken the time to get his feedback or listen more closely to the lessons he had already learned. I will never really know, but I do know that his voice in those moments would have mattered.
It is interesting how, once a chapter closes, your mind lingers on those small what-ifs. Not to change the ending, but to trace the outline of how much it all meant. It is remarkable to me that a 12-year relationship built almost entirely on the phone could hold so much weight. Over the years, I’ve learned that mentorship doesn’t need a formal title or a scheduled meeting. It just needs consistency, curiosity, and care. Formal or informal, those exchanges shape how we lead.
Careers, like lives, move in seasons. In those early years, the phone rang for me. I was the one seeking wisdom, leaning on someone with more experience, trying to find my footing. Over time, our roles became more balanced. I answered with confidence, offered ideas, and helped him when I could.
Eventually, the season shifted. He retired; I moved into consulting. That chapter is closed, but the lessons remain etched into every conversation, every decision, every quiet moment of growth.
Today, I am the one making the calls. Perhaps I have more insight now. I understand what it feels like to be in the middle of the storm. I know that the days can be long and stressful, but I also know that I carry support and knowledge to share. I am no longer in the trenches of the daily grind, which means I can offer perspective. I can help reset priorities, clarify what truly matters, and remind someone what is required versus what is simply noise. I can serve as a sounding board because I have been there. I was there for a long time. I have become the lesson on the line.
There will always be ups and downs in your career. More than that, there will be seasons. You will not always notice the shifts as they happen. They reveal themselves in hindsight, through the way others interact with you and the way you respond.
Like trees, we gain new rings each year, and our growth ebbs and flows with every season. But trees can only grow in one direction. They cannot return to an earlier time or relearn what they missed. In our careers, we can grow in many directions at once. We can be a sapling in one area and a deeply rooted oak in another.
We can expand, strengthen, or begin again when we need to. Each season brings new opportunities to build depth where we are strong and to stretch where we are still learning.
We all have jobs to do, fires to put out, and tasks to complete. We also have a responsibility to each other. There is a time when the phone rings for us, and later, a time when we make it ring for someone else. This will never be a one-way street. I still learn from the people I support and work with. Every conversation holds the potential for something meaningful on both ends of the line.
Holding intentional space for these connections, especially across facilities, can transform more than individual confidence. Mentorship builds resilience, strengthens collaboration, and reinforces a shared commitment to patient care and team culture. I can only hope that the person I am calling has just enough social battery left to pick up. I will not waste what is left, because it is an honor to have someone’s ear. That is not something to take for granted.
So, the next time the phone rings, pick it up. A lesson may be on the line.
The right conversation can change your career. Contact VMG Health to keep the dialogue going and explore our customized training and support for leadership development.
