Run Your Own Race

Today, my brother and I are installing the last of three walnut beams in the cathedral ceiling of a mid-century modern spec house I'm building. 

I've been excited about these beams for months. 

The room has an off-white palette, huge sliding doors with transom windows above them, and a single-slope ceiling that pulls all that natural light into the living space. The walnut brings warmth into a room that otherwise could have felt very clean and stark. 

For months, I could see it in my head. 

But that's the funny thing about building houses: sometimes you have to believe in something long before anybody else can see it. 

I've been doing that most of my life. 

I bought my first house at 17. I didn't have some grand master plan. I certainly didn't have all the answers. I just kept taking the next step. 

Over the next 30-plus years, I built houses, remodeled houses, bought properties, developed land, made mistakes, lost money, made money, started a company, created work for other people and slowly built some wealth. 

And somewhere along the way, I learned something that has probably served me as well as anything: Run your own race. 

I've watched people spend enormous amounts of energy looking sideways. 

What does that guy drive? 

How big is his house? 

How much money does she make? 

Where did they vacation? 

How big was their last deal? 

Who has the bigger company? 

Who is more successful? 

I decided a long time ago that I didn't want to live that way. 

There were years when Rachel and I weren't taking the vacations other people were taking. We weren't buying all the toys. We weren't trying to make our lives look successful. 

We were trying to become successful. 

First, we wanted to become debt-free.

Then we wanted to build wealth. 

Eventually, we wanted enough financial independence that we could finance our own projects with our own money. 

That took years. 

And frankly, from the outside, there were probably plenty of people who looked more successful than we did along the way. 

That was okay. 

They weren't running my race. 

At 49, though, I've realized something else. 

You can become very good at ignoring the opinions of strangers and still find yourself wanting the approval of the people closest to you. 

That's been harder for me. 

I've spent much of my life trying to encourage people around me. I've mentored people. I've created opportunities. I've tried to help people recognize potential in themselves that maybe they couldn't see yet. 

I've had countless conversations with subcontractors and younger guys who have looked at something I'm doing and said some version of: 

"Man, I wish I could do what you're doing." 

And my answer has almost always been the same. 

You can. 

I'm nobody special. 

I just kept taking the next step. 

Sometimes I knew exactly where that step was going. 

A lot of times I didn't. 

I was simply willing to take it. 

Maybe that's why I've struggled when people close to me haven't always recognized what I've built or why I've made certain decisions. 

I'm learning to be okay with that too. 

Because eventually, running your own race means exactly that. 

You don't get to require an audience.

You don't get to require applause. 

And you don't get to require everyone else to understand why you chose your particular finish line. The interesting thing is that my finish line has changed. 

At 17, I wanted independence. 

Then I wanted financial security. 

Then I wanted to build wealth. 

At 49? 

I want peace. 

I want less stress. 

I want to keep building beautiful things that challenge me creatively. 

I want the people who work with me to be better because we worked together - not smaller because I needed to feel bigger. 

I want to mentor people. 

And maybe most importantly, I want to take everything I've learned over the last 30 years and pour it into my two sons as they begin their adult lives. 

I want to help them buy their first homes. 

I want to teach them how to build wealth. 

I want them to learn from some of my mistakes without having to make every one of them themselves. And I want them to understand something that took me decades to fully appreciate: Success isn't beating the guy in the lane next to you. 

It's knowing why you're running in the first place. 

Later today, I'll stand in that living room and look up at those walnut beams. 

Someone will eventually walk into that finished house and see them for the first time. They'll see the beams. 

I'll see all the decisions that came before them. 

The ideas. The risks. The second-guessing. The mistakes. The experience accumulated over three decades that allowed me to see a finished room when it was still nothing more than white drywall and Tyvek.

That's building. 

And, increasingly, I think that's life. 

You don't need everybody else to see what you're building while you're building it. You don't need to look left. 

You don't need to look right. 

Keep your eyes on your own lane. 

Take the next step. 

Build something that matters. 

And run your own race.