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I host a podcast for dads with my friend Eric Blumenthal. You should check it out.
Because of that podcast, my social media algorithm is filled with fatherhood content. Some of it is funny. Some of it is challenging. A lot of it is cheesy.
But every once in a while, something cuts through.
Recently, I came across a clip of Steve Harvey being interviewed about his dad. He talked about flying his father out to see his comedy shows. About how his dad would proudly tell anyone who would listen, “That’s my son.”
Then Steve broke down.
He said that since his dad passed away, there is no man left on this earth who genuinely wants him to do better than he does.
Sit with that for a second.
No one left who wants him to win bigger than they win.
That is a beautiful picture of a father. And it is also a confronting reality for the rest of us.
Why is that so rare?
We say we want people to succeed. We cheer in public. We like the post. We send the quick “proud of you” text.
But underneath it, there is often a quiet qualifier.
I want you to do well… just not better than me.
It is subtle. Sometimes we do not even realize it is there. But it shapes how we show up. It limits how fully we celebrate others. It keeps our encouragement measured instead of wholehearted.
What if we flipped that?
What if we became the kind of people who genuinely want others to surpass us?
Not in theory, but in reality.
What if we cheered louder when a peer got the promotion we wanted?
What if we went out of our way to open a door we could have walked through ourselves?
What if we spoke about others’ wins with the same energy we use to talk about our own?
This is not just about being nice. It is about believing something deeper.
Abundance.
Their success does not reduce your opportunity. Their growth does not diminish your value. There is more than enough room for all of us to win.
And when you really believe that, it changes you.
You become the friend people trust.
The leader people follow.
The kind of person others want in the room when something good happens.
Because you are not calculating. You are not comparing. You are not competing in every conversation.
You are FOR them.
And that does something powerful.
It builds people.
It strengthens relationships.
It creates momentum that has a way of coming back around.
You start to notice it. Doors open. Conversations deepen. Opportunities expand. Not because you chased them, but because you became someone worth bringing along.
Steve Harvey’s story is a reminder of what that looks like at its best. A father who wanted more for his son than he wanted for himself.
We all need people like that.
The question is, are we willing to be one?
Cheer people on. Loudly. Consistently. Without condition.
Not because it benefits you, but because it changes you.
And in the process, you become the person everyone hopes is in their corner.
