Who Decided the Dues?

Fresh out of college at 22 years old, my oldest daughter landed her first teaching job. I was ecstatic. She had worked hard, earned her degree, and was stepping into a profession where she would have an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of young people. I was one proud mama.

Then she told me her salary.

Wait a minute.

This child who had just graduated from college, had virtually no professional experience, and probably still had some of my stuff in her apartment was about to start her career making nearly twice as much as it had taken me until my mid-30s to earn.

To say I "felt some type of way" would be an understatement.

Don't get me wrong, I was incredibly proud of her. I wanted her to succeed. I wanted her to have opportunities I didn't have. But apparently, I also wanted her to struggle just a little bit first. Not struggle-struggle. Just enough struggle for me to feel like she had properly earned it.

And if we're willing to admit it, I think a lot of us who have been in the workforce for a while have felt that way.

I see it now from the other side of the hiring table. A recent college graduate applies for an entry-level position and asks for $65,000. Sixty-five thousand dollars?! You don't have any experience!

Or I'll see someone who hasn't even graduated yet applying for a management position in a corporate office. Manager?! Manage what? Your group project?

Then somewhere between reviewing the application and shaking my head, a familiar, and unhealthy, thought appears: "These young people don't want to pay their dues."

They want too much money. They want promotions too quickly. They expect flexibility immediately. They haven't been here long enough. They haven't done the grunt work. They haven't worked their way up. They haven't struggled enough.

In other words: They haven't done what we had to do.

For generations, I think "paying your dues" has been part of the unwritten contract of work. You start at the bottom. You take the undesirable assignments. You work the inconvenient hours. You prove yourself. You wait your turn. You accumulate experience. Eventually, someone notices, and you get an opportunity to move up.

There's nothing inherently wrong with that because experience, competence, growth, and humility matter. There are things you simply can't learn in a classroom, from a TikTok video, or by reading a book.

I still believe that, but I also have to ask myself: Does paying your dues mean developing the experience necessary to succeed, or does it mean experiencing the same struggle I experienced before I consider you worthy of success?

Tough question, huh?

Truth is, sometimes we aren't protecting standards. We're protecting traditions. And sometimes those traditions are built around hardships we survived rather than requirements the next generation actually needs.

Like it or not, the world has changed. A lot.

There are people earning six-figure incomes by making videos and posting them online. "Influencer" is now a legitimate career. People build businesses from their cell phones. Someone can create a product this morning, market it this afternoon, and have customers in another country by tonight. People can learn skills online that once required formal classroom instruction. They can build portfolios before they've ever had a traditional job. They can develop audiences, brands, businesses, and professional networks before graduating from college.

The pathway between beginner and successful simply doesn't look the way it used to.

And that's uncomfortable when your understanding of success was built in a world where progress was much more linear.

But today's workforce has grown up watching people skip steps we once thought were mandatory. So why wouldn't they question them?

Why wouldn't a 22-year-old ask for $65,000 if she believes her skills are worth $65,000? Why wouldn't someone apply for the management position? The worst you can say is no. And maybe, just maybe, they aren't displaying entitlement.

Maybe they're displaying an expectation that they should advocate for themselves.

Now, before my younger readers start celebrating too much, there's another side to this bridge. Believing you are ready doesn't necessarily mean you are ready.

Confidence is valuable. Ambition is valuable. Knowing your worth is valuable. But none of those eliminate the need for competence.

There are still dues to pay. They just may look different.

The dues might be learning how to receive feedback without becoming defensive. They might be developing judgment that only comes from making decisions and living with the consequences. They might be learning how to navigate conflict, how to communicate professionally, how to lead someone who doesn't like you, how to recover from a mistake, how to recognize what you don't know, or how to sit in a meeting and realize the textbook answer doesn't work quite as neatly when you're dealing with actual human beings.

You can't shortcut every lesson. Some knowledge comes from education. Some comes from exposure. And some only comes from experience.

The mistake younger professionals can make is assuming that because the old path has changed, there is no path. But the mistake experienced professionals can make is assuming there is only one path.

This may be the biggest lesson for those of us who have been working for a while. We have to be careful not to turn our experiences into admission requirements. Maybe I had to work ten years before someone gave me an opportunity. That doesn't mean you should.

Maybe I started at a salary far below what the market pays today. That doesn't mean you should. Maybe I had a supervisor who believed suffering built character. That definitely doesn't mean you should. Maybe I had to figure everything out on my own. Why would I make you do the same when I could teach you?

That's not lowering the standard. That's leadership.

One of the benefits of experience should be that the people coming behind us don't have to make every mistake we made to learn what we learned. Otherwise, what exactly did we build? A bridge isn't very useful if we make the next generation swim across the river just because that's how we got to the other side.

So now, when I encounter a young professional with expectations that initially make me raise an eyebrow, I try to catch myself. Instead of allowing my mind to immediately label them as entitled, I try to ask myself some critical questions:

• What skills does this position genuinely require?

• What experience is truly necessary?

• What competencies must this person demonstrate?

• What can be taught?

• What can only be learned through experience?

And probably the most important and equally uncomfortable question: What requirement am I defending simply because that's how it worked when I came through?

Now I'm not saying to give someone a job they aren't qualified to perform. It doesn't mean paying someone more than a position is worth. It doesn't mean abandoning standards in the name of generational harmony.

It means making sure our standards are actually standards and not traditions wearing a name badge.

My daughter's starting salary didn't diminish what it took for me to reach mine. Her easier path didn't make my harder path less meaningful. And her success didn't take anything away from mine.

If anything, isn't that what we're supposed to want? For the next generation to start a little farther down the road than we did? To have access to opportunities we didn't have? To learn faster because we're willing to teach them? To avoid some of the potholes because we bothered to put up a sign?

Maybe the goal of paying your dues was never supposed to be making sure everybody struggles equally. Maybe the dues are simply the things we genuinely have to learn, experience, practice, and sometimes get wrong before we're prepared for what's next.

Those dues still exist. It's just that the price has changed. The currency has changed. And in some cases, the toll booth isn't even there anymore.

We can stand beside the empty booth complaining that nobody pays anymore, or we can help the next generation understand the road ahead.

Experience should give us wisdom. And one of the greatest things we can do with that wisdom is use it to build a bridge that makes someone else's journey a little easier.