Smart. Hard. Consistent. How I Built My Life Through Work Ethic and Curiosity
- Marcus D. Taylor, MBA
- Jun 12
- 7 min read
This might be one of my longest posts in a while—but it’s one that truly reflects who I am, and I want to share this part of my journey with you.
Last night, I had the honor of speaking to a group of incredible young men at the 2025 Kappa Kamp, held on the campus of Paul Quinn College. I left inspired.
Watching so many bright young minds—some confident in their future, others still figuring out who they are, what they love, and where they belong—reminded me why programs like this matter so much, especially for young Black boys and men in our communities. Dean Maurice West and the entire team are doing an outstanding job. I could go on, but I’ll get to the point.
I opened my message to the young men with this:
“Some people call me brilliant. I’ve been told I’m intelligent, insightful, even gifted. But here’s the truth—I never saw myself that way. I have always seen myself as curious. I work hard. I learn fast. And I keep going. That’s it.”
That’s the mindset that’s carried me through life—from cutting grass in Memphis to working in AI today.
I hope my story reminded them—and reminds you—that greatness isn’t always about being the most talented in the room. Sometimes it’s about staying curious, working hard, and refusing to quit.
My success—whether in the military, retail, graphic design, or AI—has never been about raw talent. It’s been about doing three things well:
Working Smart (Be Resourceful)
Use what you have, think ahead, and solve problems efficiently. It’s not about doing more—it’s about doing what matters better.
Working Hard (Learn When It’s Uncomfortable)
Push through discomfort. Growth comes when it’s tough—when you’re tired, stretched, or doubted. That’s where discipline is built.
Working Consistently (Keep Learning and Growing)
Show up daily. Stay committed to progress, not perfection. Small, steady steps create long-term results and real transformation.
Let me explain.
Lesson 1: The Lawn Mower and the Memphis Heat
When I was about 10 or 11 years old growing up in Memphis, my mom gave me the responsibility of cutting our yard. No father at home. No choice. No complaints accepted.
I hated it at first. The sun in Memphis doesn’t just shine—it presses down on you with that thick, humid heat. I would have much rather stayed inside with the AC or out playing with my friends. But my mother was teaching me something deeper. She was teaching me pride—and humility. That even when no one is watching, you take care of what’s yours.
I saw Mr. Parks across the street. He had the greenest, most polished lawn in the neighborhood. He and his boys mowed, edged, and cared for that yard like it was sacred. His son Martin, my childhood friend, worked right beside him. That image stuck with me.
So I stopped complaining and got to work. I learned to trim and weed eat (badly at first). I made sure the front, the back, and even the walkway were always neat. Fall came and I raked every leaf from two large trees—piled them high, played with my sister in them, then cleaned it all up.
The result? Mr. Parks' yard and ours were the only two leaf-free lawns on the block. That sense of pride—I did that—never left me.
Lesson 2: Retail Hustle and Smart Stocking
Fast forward a few years. I was working at FootAction USA in the Mall of Memphis—one of the largest in the country at the time. The stockroom was chaos. Shoes everywhere. No organization. No system. Sales lost because we couldn’t find the right shoe.
That didn’t sit well with me. I asked the manager to teach me the system—and then I fixed it. I rebuilt the stockroom, categorized inventory, and tracked sales trends so I could prepare the next week’s deliveries.
Eventually, I became the go-to stocker, earned more hours, and made the stockroom one of the most efficient in the district.
Then I moved to the floor.
I didn’t just sell shoes—I understood the customer. I upsold accessories, recommended care products, remembered families’ shoe sizes. People would come in and ask for me by name.
Even as a part-time employee, I was provided with to assistant manager duties and a pay increase. I was sent to struggling store at the Hickory Ridge Mall in East Memphis to assist the sales and stocking. Another testiment to the value of dedicatied work that turns in to useful skills.
Why? Not because I worked more, but because I worked smarter, harder, and more consistently than anyone else.
Lesson 3: Selling Cars and Sparking Innovation
After Footaction, my college and professional sports plans fell through, and I stepped into a new chapter—married, with a family to support. I began selling cars in San Antonio. It was my first job where my income was purely commission-based, and every dollar I made depended on my hustle.
I quickly adapted, learning customer psychology and how to move people from interest to action. Back then, internet sales were in their infancy—mostly through AutoTrader Online and Ebay Auto. I saw potential. I suggested we expand online listings directly through the dealership website, offering special internet pricing to drive traffic and close faster deals.
That idea helped form one of the first internet sales departments in San Antonio. Later, I was sent to another dealership across town to build a BDC (Business Development Center). I reviewed customer calls, identified gaps, and built a phone sales training program that improved conversion rates—despite not being the most liked for pushing change.
But as always, curiosity, consistency, and a desire to improve led the way.
Lesson 4: The Soldier Who Showed Up
When I joined the Army, I kept that same mindset. During downtime, I volunteered for every task. People called me a “gofer”—going for anything, always busy.
But what they didn’t see was how much I was learning.
I picked up logistics, supply systems, rations, petroleum, maintenance, motor pools—everything. I wasn’t just helping—I was building a mental map of how things operated. That knowledge paid off. I later became a supply sergeant who never failed a single inspection.
Eventually, I became part of the Command Maintenance Evaluation Team. I went from being inspected to inspecting others—all because I didn’t waste my time when others did.
Lesson 5: Creativity in the Quiet Moments
During deployment downtime, I taught myself early versions of Photoshop and Illustrator. That spark of curiosity turned into a graphic design business years later. Websites, logos, trade show banners—I created them all.
After 12 years, I briefly left the military to gain civilian experience in logistics. But I missed the structure. A year later, I was approached by leadership to return—not as a soldier, but as an instructor.
Lesson 6: Instructor to Innovator
As an Army instructor, I didn’t just teach—I designed.
I became fascinated with how adults learn. I studied andragogy, built lesson plans, and created resources beyond the required materials. I earned the Basic Instructor Badge, then Senior, and finally, Master Instructor Badge.
But I wasn’t done.
Toward the end of my military career, I began exploring automation and technology. That led me into instructional design and AI. I taught myself prompt engineering, studied large language models, and understood how AI could support education, productivity, and learning.
Now I’m an instructional designer at a major university system. I lead AI training, design educational tools, and build systems that didn’t exist five years ago.
Not because I was the smartest in the room—but because I’ve always stayed curious.
Final Thought: It Was Never About Titles
I’ve never cared much for titles. What matters to me is the opportunity to learn, grow, and become better.
One lesson that has stuck with me came from Mr. Don Maples, the Fleet Director I worked with in San Antonio. He told me:
“As you move, stay focused on the purpose. Relationships are important, but if you lose sight of your purpose, you lose sight of all of it.”
I never forgot that. Over time, I realized that people interpret drive in different ways.
For me, drive doesn’t always start with relationship-building—it starts with problem-solving.
My curiosity leads me to identify gaps, create solutions, and serve with intention. Through that, genuine relationships form—not from charm, but from contribution.
What may come across as niceness is really kindness in action—honest, transparent, and built on value.
I didn’t get here by luck. I got here by:
Doing what others overlooked.
Studying what others avoided.
Staying curious where others gave up.
And I live by one phrase and motto I learned back at Melrose High School, home of the Golden Wildcats:
“We Serve with Pride and Humility.”
That’s what it takes. Not flash. Not fame. Just honest, focused work with a commitment to doing it smarter each time with purpose and drive for more than self.
A Message to the Young (and the Hungry)
You don’t have to be the most gifted.
You don’t have to be the most liked.
You just have to outlearn, outwork, and outlast.
Work smart—not sloppy.
Work hard—not loud.
And stay consistent—not perfect.
Additional Message for Young People (and Those Still Becoming)
To each of you young men and women reading this:
Don’t worry about being the smartest in the room.
Be the most resourceful. Be the most consistent.
Ask the most questions. Do the most follow-through.
And have pride in your work—even when no one’s watching.
Start where you are. Use what you have.
And above all, keep growing.
That’s how you build something meaningful. That’s how you become someone dependable. And that’s how you leave a legacy of impact—one well-cut lawn, clean stockroom, or trained soldier at a time.
Final Reflection
Every chapter of my story—from the boy with a lawn mower to the man working in artificial intelligence—has been built not on perfection, but on effort.
Not just hard work.
Not just smart work.
But consistent work.
Smart. Hard. Consistent. That’s how I live. That’s how I lead.
And that’s how I’ll keep becoming a better version of myself—every single day and you can do it too.
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