Tag: career

  • Unsure what your ‘thing’ is? Clue #2: it’s what you give but don’t get enough of yourself

    It’s all very well, a reformed copywriter-turned-coach harping on about the virtues of getting more meaning in your career. But when you’re knee-deep in the mire of figuring out what that actually looks like, it all sounds a bit wanky and conceptual, doesn’t it?

    So welcome back to the second installment (here’s the first) in a pragmatic trilogy of articles, on the subject of unraveling the mystery of what your thing is.

    This is all about working with what you have now (a random assortment of experience and skills), unpicking them, and seeking clues that’ll help you dive deeper – if you’re curious about having more purpose in what you do for a living.

    This clue, number two, is probably my favourite one to watch out for when I’m coaching people. Not only is it the least theoretical, it turns up again and again whenever someone unloads in one of our sessions.

    Here’s what the clue looks like

    I once met a branding consultant – talented as you like. They work with businesses large and small helping them go beyond mere logos, to developing full-blown communities of people who rally around a shared mythology.

    If you ever sat down with this person, and plonked an existential dilemma in front of them, they’d not only have it sussed within minutes, they’d have sketched out umpteen possible futures to choose from.

    Anyway, we got talking and they soon made an unexpected confession (it’s a heavy cross to bear as a coach). At a recent presentation, some senior bod suggested they put aside the branding stuff for a moment, to just talk about themselves: what they stood for, how they wanted to change the world – that kind of thing.

    Only then, they went to pieces. They couldn’t consult on themselves.

    Likewise, I know a talented programmer who’s ruthlessly perfectionist on delivering bullet-proof systems on time. They’ve a reputation for doing things right by their employer’s customers, by the book, everytime. A paragon of best-practice.

    But ask how their personal projects are getting on outside of work, and it’s a litany of clever, albeit perpetually shelved, self-improvement projects. An ever-growing list of things they keep meaning to get around to, that would undoubtedly fix their own perennial problems.

    We give others what we don’t get enough of ourselves

    This sort of unwitting self-sacrifice isn’t rare amongst good, capable people. It’s a pattern of behaviour I see with increasing frequency, the more I coach. 

    Now, call me a head-in-the-clouds, soft-leftie utopianist but you can see why this happens. Societies (and the relationships within them) don’t just function, they flourish when we compensate for one another’s inadequacies. 

    On top of this, we simply didn’t have the luxury of stepping back to work on ourselves, to learn and self-improve because we were too busy watching crops fail, getting stabbed or watching our kids die to do anything about it. Thankfully, a privileged minority of us now have the means to toy with that luxury.

    My working theory is it’s all about helping others with a struggle you know well. Cooperating to ease a burden, avoid or lessen the pain and suffering for someone going through what you’ve been through yourself.

    It also makes for a compelling argument for our vocations being a hefty force for good. We’re essentially making the world a better place, saying:

    “Let me save you some bother here. Don’t make the mistake I did. I can help you with that.”

    Yes, this can come from dark places

    I won’t dwell on this too much; I’m a coach not a therapist. So let’s just say rich clues often lay hidden in our wider, personal stories, beyond the typical professional journey of finding a solution to a problem then scaling it up (textbook entrepreneurialism).

    When your livelihood is rooted in the personal, it becomes a source of real depth and conviction. It’s visceral – a feeling that’s tricky to put in words. You just seem able to empathise better with the people you help, and therefore serve them better. Put simply, you care more. In fact, that’s a really good test of whether something really is your thing – how much do you really care about it?

    I suppose my own story of escaping the barren grey corporate wastelands and going a bit mad in the basement makes for a handy example of this. I know what it’s like to approach life’s junctures, feeling a little lost or stuck, like something’s missing – no soul in your occupation or grand plans forever just out of reach. I care a lot about that, so it helps me know where my clients are coming from and what it’s like to long for sunnier uplands.

    And the clue? I’d spent a decade going around helping clients express what they stood for, as a copywriter and analyst. So they felt valued, unique, expressed, clear and capable enough to take on the world.

    But, like those folks I mentioned earlier – did I give enough of that to myself in the same way I gave it to others? Nope, not without an arduous struggle. I needed my own coach to lance that particular pustule.

    So here’s how to spot clue number two yourself

    If you’re finding it tricky to get a handle on your thing, try looking at how you already throw yourself into the service of others. Maybe you’ve noticed a pattern emerging in your projects, and the kind of people you can’t help but help?

    What are you compensating for in your line of work? Perhaps you go out of your way to do something for others, that’s above-and-beyond what you’re contracted to do in your daily duties?

    Ever find yourself unable to bite your tongue when someone’s wrestling with a particular kind of challenge? When do you feel compelled to meddle because a predicament has echoes of one you once battled through yourself?

    Follow the clues, look for themes that emerge, and you’ll be hot on the trail of finding your thing.

  • Unsure what your ‘thing’ is? Clue #1: it’s what you take for granted

    The more I coach people, the more I realise how annoyingly humble and dismissive us humans can be about the very things that define us. 

    I’d even go as far as saying that there are things about you – inclinations, experiences, stuff you’re capable of, that are so intrinsic to who you are (and what makes you interesting) that you’re practically blind to them. 

    Let me give you an example

    On a typical coaching call, a client and I will meander the psyche in pursuit of ways around an obstacle, when all of a sudden, apropos of nothing comes: ‘that reminds me of the time I got interrogated by the FBI… ‘Next week I’m launching a satellite’.

    Hang on… What? I ask, taken aback. There’s no way I’ll let a glimmer of gold like this get shovelled aside, when we’re figuring out what really makes someone tick. 

    So I press them: go on… 

    Cue a passionate eulogy, a deluge of enthusiasm about their current obsession or tinkering project. Or a curious tale from their chequered past – a man-hunt, a mysterious benefactor, a lost love in a war-torn city. Then along comes the censor to put truth safely back in its box:

    ‘Anyway, weird, I know… not sure what that’s got to do with anything… not that anyone’s interested.’

    To which I scream (internally), are you kidding? 

    What you take for granted is a clue to your place in the world

    These things that seem quite ordinary, having been part of our lives for so long, are often useful clues about which direction to take our careers in. Anything we hastily dismiss as irrelevant, historic, or too weird for everyday consumption – these are indicators of ourselves in our natural, uninhibited, creative state.

    Wouldn’t you like more of these passions and interests in your life? How about meeting like-minded people who are equally fascinated in your experiences and worldview? What if you could get paid for indulging them?

    I’m no stranger to springing this trap myself. For years I’ve secretly been drawn to railway archaeology – disused stations, trackbeds, tunnels, and industry departed. If ever I cycle over an old bridge with ‘BR’ chalked on it, that’s me lost for hours on a curious reverie into the nostalgic mists of time. And don’t get me started on the metropolitan ghosts of Leeds Tramways. 

    Yet I’d filed all this under ‘miscellaneous/other’, content to stare longingly at old maps of transport networks, imagining lost souls conveying themselves through familiar, abandoned locales. I never sang about it in case I came across as a trainspotter (I don’t own a jotter and couldn’t give a flying scotsman about trains). It all seemed too odd and niche, almost workaday, to be relevant to my coaching.

    That was until my own coach recommended I practice what I preach. I haven’t quite worked out how urban mass transit and abandoned railways integrate with my coaching practice yet, but I’m enjoying the process of picking out the bones, in my curious podcast.

    It seems some of us organise our lives into boxes

    Perhaps it’s just my kind of people; the people I coach, but I see this thought-process a lot:

    This is professional… This is personal…. F*** knows what this is, but that can go right to the back of the cupboard – out of sight out of mind.

    When we treat our lives like this, it’s easy to assume one characteristic is more important, valuable or accessible than another. And generally, the box labelled sensible, professional, commercial takes precedence over all others. It’s the box we think others want to see when our cupboard door is opened.

    Yet it’s the combination of everything in there, in balance, that makes us interesting (and valuable) to others as whole, rounded human beings.

    When you talk down your stories, the world’s poorer for it

    That satellite you’re launching on a home-built rocket – do you know how mind-blowing your tribe will find that?

    That story of mistaken identity by an FBI convinced you were a spy – pull up a chair!

    Believe me, there are people out there who’ll deeply value your insight, even pay you for it.

    I recently stumbled upon a blog, curious to see what an acquaintance had been up to. Within minutes I fell down the rabbit’s hole – they too love tinkering with low-cost Linux computers!

    Indulging my curiosity, I found myself doing what every prospective follower of yours will do; wishing I lived more like them. I was drawn to them.

    Trust and intrigue grew

    To those of us on the outside looking in (humans have another bad habit of thinking everyone else leads more exciting lives than our own), this stuff is deeply compelling. We see your worldly, inventive, adventurous value through your interests, hobbies and stories. They draw us towards you, and make us imagine new ways our paths might cross.  

    Curious nuggets of humanity are what people really hope for when they stalk you online. Sure, they want to check you’re legit, but really they long for something unusual, unique and personable.

    A peek behind the curtain.

    Because fundamentally, humans are drawn to novelty, especially when presented through the lens of those who share our values.

    Your curious hobbies, your stories, your idiosyncrasies are irrepressible

    Here’s another phenomenon.

    When I press my clients about their apparently minor hobbies and irrelevant stories, often an opportunity emerges, some change in fortune, or paid work. It turns out some fellow enthusiast found them on the internet, and invited them to collaborate on a project, or funded an experiment.

    So I press yet further – my responsibility as a coach. Don’t you think there’s something interesting going on here? 

    ‘Maybe’, comes the reply, ‘but it was just an accident. I doubt there’s enough of this kind of thing out there.’

    Really?, I ask, do we know that for certain? What would it look like to test that theory?

    Think about it like this: perhaps the real challenge is scaling up what you already do?

    If things are already happening after a handful of sporadic blog posts or tweets, imagine what might happen if you regularly updated a Youtube channel with stuff like this. Or wrote a book about it?

    ‘Oh I’d love to do that,’ comes my clients’ reply. ‘In fact, I did, well I wrote half a book anyway…I make videos about this all the time with my kids…’

    By this point I’m usually gripping the table with white knuckles, trying to retain a semblance of professionalism. 

    ‘Maybe I could take this somewhere?’ comes the realisation.

    Do you think?!?!

    Your curious hobbies, stories and other idiosyncrasies are irrepressible

    Whether you like it or not, it seems our inclinations and experiences always find a way to express themselves. Maybe it’s leaked onto a blog somewhere. Or you allude to it in your bio on your favourite social network. 

    Take a look now. What clues have snuck into your online footprints? Or if they haven’t, what do you avoid mentioning professionally that you’d rather be doing personally?

    Which boxes, full of intrigue and passion, can you delve into at the back of your mental cupboard today, and show to the world, unashamed of your enthralling geekiness?

    Because your tribe is out there, waiting to hear all about it.