My mom was a saleswoman in Taiwan. Not at a fancy company—just a regular job with regular pay. But she was never regular about how she worked.
Every evening, after a full day at the office, she'd come home, cook dinner, and then do something I didn't understand as a kid: she'd pick up the phone and start calling her leads again. While other salespeople were watching TV or resting, my mom was making one more call. Then another. Then another.
She told me this because I needed to hear it. I was struggling in school—nowhere near the top of my class, watching classmates who seemed to get it effortlessly while I fought for every grade. The rankings came out and my name wasn't where I wanted it to be. I felt like I was falling behind.
"Steven," she said, "you might not be the smartest kid in your class. But you can always—always—outwork them."
I didn't fully get it then. But I watched her outsell colleagues who had better territories, better connections, better everything. She didn't have advantages. She had effort. She had consistency. She had grit.
That lesson shaped everything. I was never the most talented person in the room. But I was often the most persistent.
Years later, when I started hiring, I kept meeting people in Asia who reminded me of my mom—hungry professionals who would outwork anyone if given the chance. They didn't have the Stanford pedigree or the Silicon Valley network. But they had something more valuable: they were willing to do what others wouldn't.
That's why I built Worca. Not to find the most talented people. To find the most committed ones.
Because my mom was right. You can always outwork your classmates. And when you find people who believe that too—you can build something extraordinary.
