My dad died unexpectedly in the same month that I received the biggest promotion of my career to date. Just a few weeks into a new position that felt much larger and sophisticated than I was, my entire world was rocked by his sudden absence. In fact, the last voicemail that my dad ever left me was during a board meeting that I felt completely unprepared to be in. He was calling to tell me he had fainted in his classroom and was on his way to the hospital. He passed away the next morning. It’s been four years, and I’ve never listened to that voicemail.

“He was calling to tell me he had fainted in his classroom and was on his way to the hospital. He passed away the next morning. It’s been four years, and I’ve never listened to that voicemail.”

At a time when I was supposed to be learning how to be an effective leader and how to navigate this new tremendous increase of responsibility, everything turned upside down. For days, I couldn’t bring myself to care about work, yet I sat in front of my team, numbly doing my best to motivate them through doing a job that I didn’t yet understand how to do.

My solution during those early weeks and months was to do my best to emulate what I thought my dad would have done if he had been in my position.

When he died, Daddy had well over 40 years of experience teaching history to high school students. He was established in his career, well respected, confident, knowledgeable. I was none of those things. So, I set about trying to do what I thought he would do.

I took some of the art and photographs that used to hang in his classroom, and I displayed them proudly all over my new office. I used words and phrases that he had used. I acted like I knew what I was doing, even when — especially when — I had no clue. To fill the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be, I just tried to be like my dad. At the time, it felt like I was honoring him by working hard to be the kind of leader that he had been. Like I was picking up a baton that he had dropped through his death and attempting to finish his race.

Here’s the problem with that logic: my dad had finished his race, and he had run it with excellence all the way to the finish line. And I had my own race in front of me. While I could certainly take cues from his leadership style and his work ethic, I had to figure out this thing on my own. I had a job to learn, a team to lead, a responsibility in the here and now.

I understand that not everyone has had this exact experience in their own lives, but here is one thing that I know is a universal truth: at some point, we all have to open our eyes to the opportunities that are in front of us. And when we do, we must choose to rise to the occasion or float ineffectively just beneath the surface. Through a grief-stained lens of trying to honor my dad’s memory, I missed the point of what I was being called to do.

As a former pastor of mine once wisely stated, “In order to honor the memory of those that have gone before us, we must live our own lives well.”

To do this, I had to come to grips with the concept of living my own life – not my dad’s. And I had to accept this new opportunity to move up in my professional life for what it was: my own.

“Here’s the problem with that logic: my dad had finished his race, and he had run it with excellence all the way to the finish line. And I had my own race in front of me. ”

Interestingly, Daddy told me years ago, when I was working part-time retail right out of college and making $7 an hour, that I needed to stop worrying about my career. He told me it was going to be fine – it would all work out. Thankfully, he was able to see that prediction come true four years ago when I shared the news of this promotion with him just weeks before he was gone.

Moving up looks different for all of us. It comes at different ages, in different seasons of life. For some of us, the pieces fall effortlessly into place, and we seamlessly transition into strong leaders, ready to serve, direct and motivate. But my bet is that for most of us, moving up feels a little more rocky, a little less predictable. We must get comfortable with not knowing. We must get comfortable with asking questions. We must realize that it is not possible for us to be experienced at a job that we have never done before. And we must accept that it is not possible for us to be the same leader as anyone else – no matter who that person may be, how much they have inspired us or how badly we wish we could do it just like they did it.

Whatever opportunity is in front of you, realize that you have been created for such a time as this. Ask the questions, do the work, and figure out how to get the job done in your own way, with your unique gifts and abilities. Pick up your baton and run your race well. Take the best of what you’ve learned from those around you and rise to the occasion — in your own way.