Get That license: Certified, Sealed, Delivered—And Slightly Sentimental

Last night, at some ungodly hour when normal people are asleep or watching true crime documentaries, I clicked through the final module of my AdjusterPro exam prep course. Every last bit—100% complete. Two practice exams? Crushed them. With time to spare. In, fact i should really slow down, because I Missed a few question by rushing and not taking the time to read it correctly, I closed the tab like a man finishing a long, strange pilgrimage.

Then I opened my email and there it was: the certificate. Gold seal, blue accents, the whole nine yards. It hit harder than I expected.

I was proud. Really proud

This wasn’t just some PDF badge for showing up. I worked for this one. This certificate wasn’t handed out with a slice of sheet cake in a breakroom. This one had caffeine sweats, practice tests, mini meltdowns, and more than a few moments of wondering if I was too old to learn something new.

Back in the early days—when I first made the jump from turning wrenches to writing estimates—I used to print every certificate I got. Every silly little “Intro to Estimating,” “Customer Service Basics,” “How to Use a Computer Without Causing a Fire” thing. I’d pop those babies into Dollar General frames and hang them proudly in my cubicle, which I shared with a fax machine and a chair that only leaned left.

It wasn’t about ego. It was about proof. I needed something to show I belonged. That I wasn’t just winging it (even though I absolutely was). That wall of cheap frames meant I was trying. And that mattered.

Somewhere along the line—probably around the time I landed my last corporate gig—I stopped. I realized those certificates were kind of… silly. I mean, they were handing them out like Halloween candy. One year, because they kept updating the policies, I took five sexual harassment courses. I have a “Diversity in the Workplace” certificate, a “Team Dynamics” certificate, and—my personal favorite—a certificate for attending a mandatory meeting about attendance.

It all became white noise. Participation trophies for adults. Most of them could’ve been replaced with a three-minute video and an email from the CEO saying, “Hey, don’t be a jerk. Cool? Cool.”

But this one? This AdjusterPro certificate? It means something again.

It means I stuck it out. I learned the material. I passed the tests. I’m one step closer to where I want to be. This one’s going up. Not in a Dollar General frame this time, but maybe thumbtacked above my desk next to a sticky note that says, “You’re doing fine.”

So here’s to silly certificates that sometimes mean something.

Here’s to faking it until you make it—and then realizing you don’t have to fake it anymore.

And here’s to passing the real exam soon… fingers crossed.


Thanks for riding shotgun on this wild little ride. Whether you’re cramming for a test, chasing a new dream, or just trying to keep your coffee hot and your head on straight—keep going. You’re doing better than you think.

Catch you on the other side of the final exam.

—Nate

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