What have you lost?

Hello, lovely to get curious with you again. If you’re new here, welcome! If you’re a long stay subscriber, thanks for sticking around! Let’s dive in.

A conversation with a stranger caused me to notice some things I’ve lost of late. A notebook habit, persistent risk-taking¹, spotting wildflowers in the street. These losses aren’t catastrophic. But they do make me feel somehow less… me.

It’s alarmingly easy to find that bits of yourself have gone astray. Not just good habits², but who you are (or thought you were) solo or together. Does that matter? And if you want it back, where on earth should you look?

What have you shoved out of sight?

Embarrassing admission: when I started Chirp I invisibilised the artist bit of my career.³ I didn’t think anyone would get it, much less value it.⁴ So my artist self stayed out of sight. (I even ditched the edgy fringe.⁵) It took me ages to notice that my niche blend of career was actually the point. And even longer to own it.⁶

It happens in teams, too. In an identity workshop I ran a while ago, a sidebar chat unearthed a stash of hidden gifts – from deep visual literacy to an intricate knowledge of gaming.⁷ Was this stuff core? No. Had dismissing it hampered their success? No. But it had prevented the rest of the team from leveraging a pile of (bonus!) skills, knowledge and experience.

We all shove aspects of ourselves out of sight, for all sorts of reasons.⁸ But what are you truly willing to lose? What might be valuable now even if it wasn’t then? What do you want to find again? This is a timely moment to look: wittingly or not, we are building the future. So get curious:

What have you downplayed?
Which aspects of yourself do you rebuff?
What are you unwilling to lose?
Which unheralded gifts might your team reveal?
Who couldn’t you be before but might be now?⁹

What have you inadvertently mislaid?

Stuff gets lost by accident, too. Another team I worked with had embraced asynchronicity so heartily they’d lost the knack of picking up the phone.¹⁰ They still had team meetings, but their ad hoc “10 minutes to figure out” or “quick take on” had disappeared. And losing those quick, on the fly connections had also slowed them down. But it didn’t require wholesale change. Just noticing what was mislaid, and choosing, judiciously, to put it back.

Sometimes it’s personal. A rueful I used to be… is something I quite often hear from leaders. And on the surface it’s fine – they’re over it. But it niggles because what’s missing feels somehow fundamental to they are.¹¹ Happily, a lot of being is actually doing: I do therefore I am. It needn’t be big, or constant, or superb. Doing is still becoming. So again, get curious:

Who do you miss being?
What did you do that made you be?
What might be its easiest, most appealing iteration?
What are you willing to trade in exchange for doing it?
Who are you without it? And why does that matter?

Audit your lost and found

Many of us have lost things beyond the plain heartbreaking over the last few years. Some we’re deeply aware of; others rest below the surface. But we can choose to audit that lost and found – for ourselves, our teams, even our organisations. So have a good rummage. Notice what’s missing. Where might you find it? Do you still want it? (You might not.¹²) Notice what’s turned up. Is it useful? Is it in the way? Perhaps you’ll find what you were looking for elsewhere. Perhaps it’ll look a bit different. And hey, maybe it was never quite lost in the first place.

See you next time! 👋

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

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FOOTNOTES

1 More on this next time.

2 BJ Fogg’s behavioural model is interesting on this, and why tiny shuffles might be the path to big strides. Thanks to Do Manifesto for the reminder, and the conversations that inspired this blog. (And that nice Nick Parker for giving me his ticket!)

3 To invisibilise: in common usage but as yet invisibilised in the dictionary, AFAIK (which isn’t).

4 Or… FIND IT ONLINE. 🤦

5 I still didn’t look corporate. Just unfringed.

6 Different times, innit? 🤷‍♀️ Plus it can take metaphorical balls of steel* to own who you are. In some contexts, just showing up is a radical act.
*I’m not fond of that phrase, but my feminist rendering is NSFW. 🙄 Which is particularly sad because it is also HILARIOUS.

7 Apparently it’s not just Pac-Man. 🤷‍♀️

8 FWIW, my thoughts on navigating the messiness of bringing your whole self to work.

9 Inspired by Ethan Mollick’s excellent question ‘what impossible thing can you do now’. Looking forward to reading his book – anyone else ordered and keen to discuss?

10 I think it’s an art: knowing when it’s the smart choice, having the confidence to ask, knowing how to use it efficiently.

11 My hunch is that these conversations are happening a bit more now because many of us have just enough distance from the pandemic to reflect on where we’ve landed. Who we were, and are. What we’ve gained, and lost. What we’re trying to find.

12 Like losing a fear of being found out, or sloughing off what isn’t yours – other people’s assumptions, say. Noticing this stuff can help you savour your success, own who you’ve become and choose where you go next: deliberately, and unencumbered.

Where could you be more crap?

Are you good at life? Could you be better? I’ve devoted hours to this elusive goal. Better at mindfulness. Better at writing newsletters. Better at being… better.[1]

Being better is, basically, leadership law:

Continuous learning
Executing
Innovating
Everything-ing

Even being better at failing. (Yep, apparently it is possible to fail at failure.)

Isn’t it good? Well yeah, maybe. But God, it’s exhausting. So much effort goes into being better. When do you get to be crap? I don’t mean feeling you’ve been a bit crap. Or that you haven’t done your best. I mean being crap on purpose.[2]

But… why would you? 🤯

Well, partly because there’s something liberating about not even intending to be great. And partly because, however marvellous you are, you won’t always add value.[3]

But also because not everything matters. At least not in the same way to the same extent at the same time. And figuring out what doesn’t matter leaves you more room for what does.

Also, whisper it, sometimes you just will be… a bit crap. 😱 So, to the extent that you can, you might as well be crap on purpose. Selectively, deliberately, and where your brilliant brain won’t make a difference.

Hang on a minute, what does that even mean?

Good question. What does being crap mean?

Is the outcome subpar?
Is the outcome fine but the expectation sky high?
Is the process less effort?

These are different things. They require a different response. And they can unfold in confounding ways. Fantasy expectation can obfuscate real need. Un-crap effort can produce a crap outcome.[4] And less effort can improve an outcome.[5]

And then, of course, there are degrees of crap. Sometimes more is more; sometimes it’s just meh. Sometimes the quality of attention is the difference between brilliance and balls-up.

But we often lump it together under one crap umbrella. Which isn’t helpful. So get curious instead. What does being crap mean in this context? What does it mean to you? What does it mean to someone else?[6] And: why?

It’s worth running a few experiments to figure this out. To gauge what being purposefully crap feels like. To sensitise yourself to its various qualities. And to find out where and how you could (or shouldn’t) be more crap. Here are three places you might start.

1. Where do you excel?

Excellence is satisfying. It makes us feel valuable.[7] Which makes excessive effort so enticing. But beyond a certain point, does being even more excellent make a difference? Does it serve you? Does it reduce your attention for other stuff? Could less effort in the process – being “a bit crap” – free you up elsewhere?

Run some experiments where you excel. Which bits of a task require your brilliance? Which just need competence? Where could you give less – perhaps in thinking time, detail or extras? What actually makes the difference? Your less will probably still turn out to be more.[8]

Get curious, too, about what’s actually valued. You might discover your extra effort isn’t. Or gets in the way. Which can be annoying, and disheartening, and more fool them, etc. But it’s also useful data in deciding what deserves best-brain. And what doesn’t.

2. Where do you secretly fear crapness?

Enough of excellence. Where do you give too much for fear of being not enough? What do you fear might be revealed without such diligence?

Fear might be essential, even enjoyable. But it also provokes all manner of peculiarities. Like going the extra fifty miles instead of one. Or ploughing in hours of thought where two would do.[9] Because if you didn’t, who knows what might emerge? 😬

Put your secret crappiness to the test. What happens if you ease off a bit? Where can you ease off? Where do you need to make more effort? What’s the sweet spot between underdone and overblown? Or between your fear-filled expectation and actual need?[10] And does your fantasyland perception of "crap" baffle everyone else?

3. Where does it just not matter?

The day other day, my (very patient) niece gave her (not very patient) aunt a cello lesson. Said aunt had always assumed an affinity with the cello. Sure, there’d be the odd duff note. And third position might be a stretch. No matter. She’d be singing out Elgar’s Cello Concerto in no time.

Reader, it’s true. I was singing the concerto in no time. I just wasn’t playing it. Turns out I find the cello both quite tricky and verrrrry painful.[11] I wasn’t just a bit crap. I was utterly crap. I couldn’t trap the strings. I played all over the bridge. I could barely hold the bow.

BUT

It was really fun! Because none of it mattered. Who cares if I suck at cello?[12] Not even me, despite my massive ego.

The thing about my job, and probably yours, is that there’s not much opportunity to be overtly crap. To be deliciously, delightfully rubbish. To revel in hilarious, abject failure precisely because it doesn’t matter. To care about process instead of outcome and notice how that feels. That’s hard in the whirl of work.

Which is a shame. Because actually, being deliberately crap is incredibly freeing. Sure, you might learn something. You might even discover a new talent.[13] But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter. Literally no one cares, including you. Phew.

So again: get curious. What does being crap mean, and when, and why? Where is best-brain not required? When is effort driven by fear? How can you trade less effort on what doesn’t matter for more on what does? Where does being crap free your soul? 🥳

This is how to be more crap.[14] Not blithely and wholesale. But discretely, purposefully and, with a spot of luck, hilariously. So go on, kick up a stink! 👋

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

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 [1] Perhaps I should apply for BBC Director of Better.

[2] I’m currently in hostage negotiations with the “delivery” “service” Yodel, which has hijacked my parcel. Serious commitment to ‘be more crap’, there.

[3] And might make it worse. By redirecting attention towards you. Or asking redundant questions. Or squashing someone else’s opportunity. Or…

[4] I know, so unfair.

[5] As above.

[6] Like this morning, when a friend with an actual degree in maths described himself as ‘a crap mathematician’. 🙄

[7] And no wonder. More effort + more talent = better results is a very sticky notion. And makes more talent + tiny effort = same results seem terribly unfair. Although the hard work + talent = success equation collapses anyway because it’s so often trumped by privilege = success. Which isn’t to suggest you can’t be talented and hard-working and privileged (👋). Or a privileged distaster. But you won’t have to be as talented or as hard working to get further than someone with less privilege. Tricky, but true.

[8] Just don’t be a wally.

[9] Fear also provokes avoidance. On which: this.

[10] Years ago I spent fear-stained hours perfecting practice tracks for my choir. Just in case they weren’t (tr: I wasn’t) quite good enough. Pointlessly, as it turned out: they only ever got a brief, half-arsed listen anyway. So now they’re crap. I record one improvised version, and that’s it. Doing them quickly and crappily has saved me buckets of time. And: no one cares! 🤦‍♀️ Plus I preserve my energy for rehearsals, which is where my best brain really matters. (And where I change everything anyway.)

[11] Tragically, my callous heart hasn’t extended to callused fingers.

[12] Possibly the neighbours.

[13] I haven’t. But my kind niece has agreed to another lesson. I have agreed to be better behaved and less impatient. Unclear which will transpire.

[14] Has this post become unintentionally meta? 😬

How could you be less rush, more roll?

The other day a colleague told me they weren’t going to rush. Not only then, but ever. Why? They’ve spent their life rushing. To work! In work! From work! At home! With friends! All rush. 😫

So they’ve decided not to. Time for a micro-task? Leave it. Running late? Saunter on. Caught in a queue? Meh.

Good, no? Except… the whole thing made me feel incredibly antsy.[1] Until I realised that actually, they’d end up more efficient by not rushing. Multitasking = multifail. Etc.[2] And even if they weren’t more efficient they’d probably be more mindful. Or something. Phew, order restored.

Their take on my insight?

🙄

I’d missed the point. Not rushing wasn’t a sneaky scheme to cheat productivity. Or be an indefinably better person. It was just what it was: not rushing. The end. 🤯

And hey, that makes sense. Consider the lilies of the fields…[3] Etc. But then what? I love an intellectualised concept, but what does it mean in practice? Where’s the line between not-rushing and not-getting-on? Or between being fast and being rushed? How can you tell one from the other? And how do you cope without the sweat-drenched, brain-focused WHOOSH! of a deadline?

What’s the rush?

Let’s step back a bit. Why are you rushing in the first place? I'm not suggesting you channel your inner sloth. Just get curious. What is the consequence of not racing ahead? Is that really true? Does it matter?[4] Fan of nuance that I am, I’d venture that it probably depends.[5] Some things are time-bound. I’d still rather catch the train than not, for example. So there’s that.

But lots of things don’t have inherent so much as imposed deadlines. “I’ll get this done by x time, so I can fit in y before I do z. And then tomorrow I can crack on with a.” But again, why? What’s lost if you don’t? What’s gained if you do?

Ugh. Such boring, obvious, coachy questions. 🙄 And honestly, who has time to live their life in constant ponder?[6][7] But actually, I don’t think you always need to answer those questions – so much as ask them. It’s a sort of mental intervention: pausing the rush in your mind to rush a bit less in practice. If nothing else, it gives you a bit of choice: rush, or don’t. Just make sure you own what you choose.[8]

What do you rush?

A funny thing: the leaders I work with don’t rush everything. Most of them won’t rush strategic decisions. Or budget forecasts. Or tricky conversations with the team. Etc.

But most of those leaders will rush themselves. How? Sometimes by rushing the stuff that makes life calmer. Like time to decompress after one of those tricky chats. Or by squeezing the stuff they love so there's more time for stuff they don't.[9] Which is odd, really. Because who has time to dispense with joy?

If you are going to rush, you might as well rush everything equally. Except you probably won’t. So why do you rush some things and not others? And what about the reverse: what do you savour, for good or ill? If you audited this day, would you be content with what was rushed, or not, or savoured?

What’s your post-rush recovery time?

We don’t really think about this mid-rush, but rushing isn’t finite. The reason to rush might end with the deadline, but the effect of rushing tends to hang around. And hey, that’s not necessarily bad. It might be a sense of delicious triumph, of having made it against the odds. In which case: hurrah for you! 🙌

But mostly, I reckon it’s just tiring. Because it’s actually quite hard to pull your attention away from the deadline that's been consuming your energies. Or to feel calm, or present, or ready for the next thing. At least for a while.

What if you added up the rush time plus the recovery time? Would you end up in the same place as if you hadn’t rushed? My strong hunch is: yes. Not always, and not for everyone. But often enough to give one pause.

Want the whoosh without the weep?

Maybe you need a deadline to channel your inner brilliance. Maybe, like me, you actually enjoy that glorious sprint to the finish. In which case, might I commend One Step Forward to chunk the madness? That way, when the deadline looms you can hurtle on with the hard yards done.[10] And focus more (not entirely) on being your brilliant self. And less (not entirely) on panic-ploughing through the mud. It’s not about trying to turn yourself into someone who doesn’t respond to deadlines. It is about giving yourself the best chance to be you. Slowly, slowly, catchy bum rub.[11]

Keen to get curious and fancy a spot of help?

Get intensely curious about who you are, who you’re not, and what actually matters with Impertinent Questions. My nosiness meets your context each weekday for a month.

Get curious with The Curious Leader newsletter direct to your inbox. Longform, practical, personal opining on curiosity in leadership. Like today’s on FOBFO-busting, or this one on owning your success.

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[1] I hate being late. But I love other rush-related stuff that I won’t mention in case I sound like a twat.

[2] Also, the notion that women are brilliant at multitasking is one of the most insidious excuses for the quantities of unpaid labour dumped on them. Everyone’s shit at multitasking. And, like all things patriarchy, it does a disservice to men as well as women.

[3] “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:28, The Bible: King James Version)

[4] These are two of the most helpful questions you can ask, imho. A question (or two) for all seasons.

[5] I imagine there are examples where being in a rush is preferable to being quick. I just can’t think what they might be. CPR came to mind, but even that needs to be steady rather than racy – roughly 2 compressions per second, according to the British Heart Foundation. Btw, they offer free CRP training on your phone or tablet. It takes just 15 minutes. It could save a life.

[6] Which is why it’s much more sensible to be consistently curious. Constant anything is pretty exhausting.

[7] Then again, who has time not to?

[8] It’s much more powerful to own your own decisions than to pretend they’re someone else’s. You’ll come across as clearer in yourself, as well as in your motivations. Which also means colleagues (or friends and family) are more likely to know where they are with you.

[9] Is all this selective rushing because they’re kinder to other people than to themselves? It’s a coaching question so tremendously clichéd I hesitate to commit it to print. But lots of leaders I know really wouldn’t treat their teams the way they treat themselves. Which is intriguing for all sorts of reasons. Do they consider themselves more able than their teams? Or more deserving of mistreatment? Discuss.

[10] I should add that lots of my clients use One Step Forward to avoid running up against deadlines altogether. And that’s cool too.

[11] I love this phrase, which I think was born of a malapropism-cum-mondegreen. You’d have to ask its originators, those marvellous folks at Advai, for the full explanation. It is entirely irrelevant to what they do (clever things that stress-test AI). But a phrase like this deserves to be out in the world!

Why comparison can kill your career (and how to avoid it)

Red leaf, yellow leaf – the same but different

It happens to the best of us. Even the sturdily self-assured. (And the nicest.) You’re going about your business when you suddenly encounter someone like you, but better. They might do your dream job, or live the life you seek. Or simply navigate the world with more ease. Whatever it is, your heart sinks. Welcome to ‘compare and despair’.

A brilliant business coach diagnosed me with ‘compare and despair’ when I was launching Chirp. I’d just Googled an old friend and, having discovered that she was now Very Successful, confessed to feeling A Bit Rubbish.

I’ve met plenty of people who’d rather you didn’t succeed because they perceive success as finite, rather than abundant. As if it’s ‘one in, one out’. But that wasn’t the problem here. I felt incredibly proud of my friend. And I knew the comparison was a) unsound, and b) unhelpful. But it still hit home.

As it happens, I was in good company. Comparison, it seems, is part of the human condition. The American psychologist Leon Festinger first coined the term ‘social comparison theory’ in the ‘50s, but the subject was widely researched before and has been since.

And the thing is, comparison isn’t inevitably bad. It can help you assess where you stand in the world. It can help you see just what's possible. And it can motivate you to get to where you want to be. (Of which, more later.)

What isn’t helpful is serving up your comparison with a large dollop of inadequacy. It’s so easy to conclude that, because someone else seems to be succeeding, you must be failing. Or at least falling behind.

And that sort of muddled thinking can make you feel there’s no point in even trying. That you’re destined for mediocrity instead of meteoric rise. And so to plunge yourself into despair without working out what success means to you in the first place.

So how do you avoid despair when you compare? Here are some of the techniques I share with my clients (and use myself).

1. Name it

There’s something incredibly reassuring about acknowledging ‘compare and despair’. So I encourage my clients not only to recognise, but to name it. This can also be hugely freeing. Rather than ruminating and feeling rubbish, you can process what you’re feeling faster. And then move on.

2. Convert despair to share

Help yourself to a dose of whatever your chosen subject is doing. Focus on what's within your control, remember not everything will be, and ask for advice if you can.

This can be useful for big life changes, but comes into its own on a smaller scale. Look for the tools, techniques and behaviours that you think make the other person successful. It might be engaging particular colleagues, or asking for specific feedback, or being clear about expectations. Be curious and think laterally.

If you notice something you think is useful, try it out for yourself. Like anything new, it might take time to inhabit it in a way that feels authentic. So be willing to adopt, adapt and discard depending on what proves useful and right for you.

3. Get started

Ever see someone doing something you could have done? And decide that ship has sailed? You might be right, of course. On the other hand, someone else might simply have done the groundwork for you and shown what’s possible. Which is actually quite helpful.

The only way to find out is to begin. Late so often is better than never. So start small, experiment lots, and learn as much as you can from the subjects of your comparison.

Incidentally, for me this meant dipping my toe into online provision. Funnily enough, as soon as I gave it some serious thought opportunities came my way. Serendipity is a marvellous thing. But more to the point, having the idea in mind meant I was not only scanning the horizon for opportunities, but then able to accept them with confidence.

4. It really is about you

Perception is (almost) everything. How you see someone may not align with their perception of themselves. And while you’re busily comparing, the focus of your despair is probably doing the same to someone else (or to you).

‘Compare and despair’ is never really about the other person. They just happened to be there at the right time to connect with your particular worry or desire. So, rather than racing an unwitting competitor, try to measure yourself against what you really want. If seeing what someone else has done gives you the proverbial kick you need to get going, then all good. And if it gives you pause and helps you work out what you really want, then that’s fortuitous too.