Where are you risk-blind?

A financial advisor once told me that when she takes on creatives she makes them do the risk profile first. It’s faster, apparently. Otherwise they bang on about being risk-averse when they’re clearly not. They weren’t disingenuous, she said. Just too used to rolling with risk to notice it’s a choice.[1]

They’re not alone. Many of the leaders I work choose risk over safety, and are encouraged to do so. It’s enabled them to achieve great things – from cross-industry collaboration[2], to launching businesses, to producing life-saving vaccines.[3]

These are big wins. But there’s a flipside to rolling with risk. It can become harder to devote attention to the risks you can’t choose, or that don’t loom large but still consume energy. Or indeed, to those that don’t seem in the least bit risky to you, but but absolutely do to your team. And whether you notice them or not, they all feed into your overall capacity for risk.

Notice what you choose

Noticing is the simplest and least glitzy of superpowers. But it can prove revelatory. So pay attention to the risks you’re taking, or asking your team to take. What are they? How risky are they? And were they chosen or imposed?

That balance between chosen and unchosen matters. It can influence not just how many risks you take but their nature, as well as the effort you invest. Plus it’s hard to take more of the risks you want if you’re already at capacity with ones you don’t.

🧐 Get curious about your unchosen risks

Some unchosen risks are a response to uncertainties beyond your control. Like how far to embrace AI.[4] Whatever you choose is risky, no one knows all the risks, and we're probably worrying about the wrong ones anyway.

Some risks will be consciously chosen – just not by you. Like the restructure that landed one of my coachees with an extremely risky strategy. They hadn’t chosen it, but were still responsible for its successful delivery.

Either way, get curious about where you’re experiencing unchosen risks in your work, home, health, family, community, environment, or elsewhere. Look beyond the obvious, too. What’s slipping under your radar? What are you downplaying even though it’s consuming energy?

Get curious too about where you can exercise choice within unchosen risks. How might you influence their progress or outcomes? And which risks might even give you unexpected space to play?[5] (Like that coachee of mine, who capitalised on that risk-everywhere moment to chase a different market.)

🧐 Get curious about your chosen risks

Intentional risk can be thrilling. So get curious about where you’re choosing to take risks. What are your big fat gambles? Where are you running test—learn—adapt style experiments for swift, incremental progress?[6] How are they shaping your capacity for risk? How are they strengthening your resilience?

Get curious too about the balance between those big and small risks. Which might you dial up or down? Where might you dial up your chosen risks in response to fewer unchosen ones?

🧐 Get curious about your team’s risk slate

What feels risky to you might not to your team. But also: vice versa.[7] So get curious, about the team – together and individually. How much risk are they navigating? What’s the balance between chosen and unchosen? Who is drained by unchosen risk outside work? How might you reduce or redistribute some of their chosen risks?

Get curious about where the team lacks risk, too. Which risks are they aching to take? How might you be getting in their way? How might you deepen their resilience to unchosen risk? Who is craving a risk beyond your team? And who is choosing risks for whom?

Give yourself a risk assessment (not that sort)

You’ll find chosen and unchosen risks everywhere in response to this VUCA, post-pandemic, gen AI world. And since merely being human comes with its own mess, delight and tragedy, there’ll be plenty in the analogue world, too.

So what are your current risks?[8] Which apply to you, which to your team? Which are chosen, or not, and by whom? What’s the balance between them? Getting curious might not change the risks in front of you, but it might help you respond with greater clarity and intention.

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 Unlike making pension plans, apparently. 🤷‍♀️

2 Like, memorably, music streaming and healthcare – bewildering, but genius.

3 Being able to pass on the thanks of the medic who vaccinated me was an unexpected delight amidst pandemic awfulness.

4 You could not use it, but how and how much are more common quandries. And most of us are already using it anyway.

5 Which I attempt to make the case for here. I’ll leave you to your own conclusions on its success.

6 Intriguingly, it’s not uncommon for teams to head straight for the Massive Risk because de-risking it with smaller experiments feels… too risky. 🙃

7 Conversation with social media manager the other day:
Them: I’m terrified of public speaking.
Me: I’m terrified of social media.
Them: 🤦
Fear isn’t the same as risk, but it’s often provoked by perceived risk.

8 A quick, frequent and current audit is often more insightful than the big, unwieldy review. Besides, while it’s tempting skip ahead to the sunlit uplands, what you’re experiencing now will inevitably influence what comes next.

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.

Are you stuck in the effort swamp?

Ugh. My client’s response at mere mention of that task. 😣 But why such doom? Was it boring, or tricky, or scary? Nope.

And yet an unassuming item on the to-do list had become insurmountable – and thrown a brilliant leader into calamity. Not of the racing heart, bitter self-doubt variety. This was altogether more lackadaisical. My poor client hadn’t crashed, so much as gently roly polied into the effort swamp.

What is the effort swamp?

Take a look at your to-do list. Which item stubbornly resists removal? Or keeps falling off? Or spurs you into high performance procrastination? There’s a good chance it’s belly flopped into the swamp.

The effort swamp tends not to affect the big and dramatic, or even unutterably dull, so much as the squashy middle. Where the rewards seem simply too intangible, incremental or snoozily mañana.¹ And where boredom arises less from the Thing itself than the endless not-doing of it.

Stuff you can do, would benefit from doing, but also won’t die from not doing often thrives in the effort swamp. Which perhaps explains another of its intriguing features: the self-stymie. You don’t do it, so there’s no benefit, so you were right not to do it. QED. 🤷‍♀️ A glorious cart-before-the-horse call to inaction.²

A few IRL examples:³

• A client who hasn’t got round to reviving a valuable learning exchange because the admin might get onerous
  Even though they could cap the numbers, or crowdsource a solution (or… whisper it… discover there’s not that much demand)

• A mate who never quite has time to sort out their website because it doesn’t drive much traffic⁴
  Even though it doesn’t drive much traffic because it doesn’t work properly

• And me(a culpa)⁵: a product I haven’t finished because the sales might not recoup the faff
  Even though they definitely won’t if it never goes on sale 🙄

What with the not dying thing, the effort swamp is easy to dismiss. But being not bovvered is, annoyingly, quite a lot of bother. Thinking about whether to do the Thing is effort. Finding stuff to do instead is effort. Bashing yourself over the head for not making the effort is, yep, effort. It’s just not effort well spent. So what to do?

Ask impertinent questions 🤔

Does it actually matter?
What might happen if you just get on with it? Why is it more strategic not to bother? What might happen if you never do it?

Are you luxuriating in the swamp?
Which obstacles are real and which imagined? Where are you moved by a spirit of perversity? Where are you cosying up to being crap?⁶

Who might you become?
Who might you be if you climbed out of the swamp? Who might you be if you don’t? Which is scarier?

Fancy an expanded version of these Impertinent Questions? Download it here. Keen to get nosy every day? You might like my month of Impertinent Questions. (Fear not – you get weekends off.)

Budge the grudge

The effort swamp is often mired in a perception of drudgery – and real resentment. One day you’re mulling over the task; the next you begrudge everything it stands for. Like my mate who agreed to speak at an event, couldn’t decide what to speak about, and then told me all talks were boring, stupid and futile anyway. 😫⁷ Druge begets grudge in almost touching mutualism.

So get curious. Where might you find the fun and skip the swamp? Which bits are truly unavoidable? How might your ugh be another’s ooh?⁸ Even if the drudge (and grudge) doesn’t crumble under interrogation, at least you know what’s what. And that gives you a chance to make it less boring/tricksy/draining.⁹

Start anywhere, strategise en route

Leaders are frequently encouraged to set the course before they set off.¹⁰ And (provided you’re pivot-ready) that’s smart. But when you’re in the effort swamp? Not so much. Because you probably know the route and destination. You just can’t be arsed to go.

At which point, setting off from anywhere, in any direction, at least sets you in motion.¹¹ And offers a clearer view of what’s ahead. Yes, it might’ve been smarter to start elsewhere. And yes, you might have to change course. But that might’ve happened anyway. And at least you’re not still stranded at shore.

Know when to fold ‘em

Look around you. What’s changed since you stumbled into the effort swamp? Does the Thing still matter? Do you still care? What might you gain by ditching it altogether? And how will you feel: like a weight’s been lifted, or like you’ve dropped the ball?

Sure, sometimes you have to grit your teeth and crack on.¹² But there’s merit in knowing when to say feck it, I’m out.¹³ And to acknowledge that, if you haven’t done it yet, you’re just not going to. At least you’ll be making a choice. And freeing up all that effort for something you might want to do instead.

Goodness, you’ve read right to the end! If you’re new here, 👋 and many thanks for subscribing. And if you’re a long-standing (suffering?) reader, hearty cheers for sticking around. 🙌

If you’d like even more from me, there’s my month of Impertinent Questions, a 30-second read direct to your inbox. Actual real people have said nice things about it like ‘just so good’ and ‘I think it’s magical’ [*blushes with gratitude*]. There’s also my small back catalogue of blogs and now slightly old-ish podcast with still excellent guests. And if you’d like to chat curious coaching or leadership learning, just hit reply. And that’s it. PHEW! 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.

---

FOOTNOTES

1 A sort of Goldilocks gone wrong, where just right is just wrong.

2 Although the April 1907 edition of Popular Mechanics notes that “the very latest Paris novelty in the vehicle line is a four-wheeled surrey in which the cart is actually before the horse.” And (lolz) that “another feature which attracts attention is the driver, who is a woman.” (Also, just so you know, the first story on that page references suicide.)

3 To everyone who shared their effort swamps with me: thank you! To everyone else: don’t judge. I reckon we’ve all got ‘em lurking somewhere.

4 This came up So Many Times, with many a website/CV/profile update stuck in swampy sludge (including my own 😬).

5 This blog is nothing if not meta. Alarmingly, it might be nothing but meta. 😬

6 I’m all for purposeful crapness, as distinct from the feckless sort in which you give good sense the slip.

7 It was quite the diatribe – but, predictably, he was brilliant in the end! 🔥🙌😂

8 Their opportunity to gain skills/kudos/recognition, rather than yours to get rid at their expense – obvs.

9 Perhaps by deploying Second Brain, or being somewhere other than your desk, or playing it for laughs to boost your creativity (or just keep you awake).

10 Not least by me! 👋

11 It’s like steerageway, a sailing thing my mate Nick told me about: you can’t steer until you’re moving.

12 One Step Forward might help if so.

13 Or to quote our Ken: you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Apparently while performing a slow, polite striptease.

Are you an inadvertent completist?

The holidays are fast upon us. Books, sea and shaggy dogs lie almost within reach. But reader, I’ve stalled. And feel like I’m wading through porridge sans spurtle.

The diagnosis? Inadvertent completism. But hey, at least I'm in good company. Because however brilliant they are the rest of the time, most leaders succumb now and then.

But what is this inadvertent completism?

A kind of rubbish reverse alchemy, in which the more effort you make, the less value you create. 😫 And tragically, it can be contagious.

Here’s how it looked for a marvellous leader I coach. He’d just taken on a new team and was implementing a new vision and strategy. It was a massive undertaking, hugely exciting and he was rocking it.

BUT

Despite talent, experience and sheer drive, one solitary piece of work clung limpet-like to his slate. The more attention he gave it, the longer it lingered. The more he looked, the less he saw. The more clarity he attempted, the more convoluted it became.

The problem? In his laudable desire to offer something fulsome and complete, he’d inadvertently created a bloated, unwieldy palaver. And whereas ordinarily he’d use his fine judgement to:

Decide what matters, what doesn’t and which trade-offs to make
Choose when to pursue and when to pivot
Deliver excellence, not everything

Struck down with inadvertent completism, he’d:

Overshot enough in favour of comprehensive
Rethought, refined and revised as if stuck in an interminable game of Tetris¹
Generated extra work for everyone, as work begot work begot work – but infuriatingly, not value

Inadvertent completism, he lamented, is the unwanted gift that refuses to stop giving. You (and your team) continue to work harder, go deeper, do better – with inverse returns. Clarity of purpose crumbles under indistinct swathes of intention. Optimal value melts into valuing everything.² Confoundingly, more ends up as less.³ 😭

But why does this happen?

Inadvertent completism tends to descend at crunch points. During overload, for example, like my pre-holiday overwhelm. Or extreme flux, like when you try valiantly to craft clarity in an uncertain abyss.⁴ Or, perversely, when you do everything you can to hit the ground running, like my frustrated coachee.

And it’s not silliness: the leaders I work with are smart, strategic and familiar with brilliance.⁵ But almost everything has a flipside. So occasionally, in avoiding under-delivery, they lean into a metaphorical cross every t dot every i overcorrection. And in going above and beyond, end up deeper in the mire and further from the finish.

It’s no fun on the receiving end, either. Like when an otherwise wonderful exec I worked for requested just a bit more, and a line here, and perhaps a detail there on a treatment we were developing. The result was undeniably more complete. But it wasn’t better. And wasn’t commissioned anyway. 🙄

Yes, hindsight can over-simplify: there’s every chance it still would’ve bit the dust. But it might’ve been a smarter use of our time (and less infuriating) to deliver enough to fulfil the brief – and then crack on with something else.

But is there a cure?

Yes, of sorts. Get curious. Find out what works for you, and how you could adapt it for a better fit. You might, for example, give One Step Forward a whirl, or experiment with one of these.

🧐 Frame the negative

Rather than picking out what matters (usually everything), strip it back by framing the negative:

How isn’t that bit essential?
Where isn’t this thought relevant?
Why shouldn’t you address that, or that, or this?
What can’t you know?
What don’t you need to know?

Yes, there’s always nuance. And yes, it’s all probably important somewhere at some point. Just not all of it now.

🧐 Set creative constraints

An artist friend of mine often extols the beauty of boundaries when mentoring stuck colleagues. Because it might sound like (or be sold as) freedom, but delivering without parameters can be a nightmare.⁶ You often waste untold energy just wondering where to look. Her fave constraints?

Specify the scope
Specify the first, real audience (not future, potential audience)
Specify an imminent deadline for review with a specified person

Your parameters might change but, much like framing the negative, creative constraints can re-energise the process and give completism a firm kick.

🧐 Ask Impertinent Questions

Inadvertent completism won’t look the same in everyone. So get curious about when, how and where it manifests for you, and impacts on your team. The clearer the diagnosis, the faster the remedy.

When do you tend towards completism?
What are your completist triggers?
How might more doing produce less value?
Which of your expectations are unsustainable?
Where is there more solution than problem?

Plus a bonus: deploy Second Brain.⁷ It’s much easier to puncture inadvertent completism with a co-conspirator. Saying stuff out loud helps you spot where you’ve supersized the brief. Or where the brief is batshit. Plus: it’s much nicer to shed one’s excesses with companionable giggles than self-flagellation.

And to avoid inadvertent completism, that’s it! I’m off on holiday.⁸ 👋

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.

---

FOOTNOTES

1 Which turns out to be actually possible, albeit in theory.

2 See also the “Everything Slide”. Awash with detail, utterly impenetrable, intriguingly common.

3 Incidentally, inadvertent completism isn’t quite the same as other personal tripwires. And since different ailments require different treatments, it’s worth checking you’re not actually suffering from high performance procrastination, perfectionism or luxuriation (stretching into the expanse for the sheer love of it).

4 On which: years ago I worked with a leader who’d inherited a restructure with another on the horizon and a potential merger. Completism was barely avoidable. One Step Forward helped her craft some clarity – but crikey, what an onslaught.

5 Which has its own issues.

6 Although marvellous for radical imagination, conjuring with impossibilities and escaping idiosyncratic shackles. Just less so when you have to produce something now.

7 Second Brain = conversational approach that helps you move forward. With a specifically selected Second Brain. A bit like coaching, a bit like mentoring, a bit like consulting. But also not quite. I meant to share a download but: inadvertent incompletism.

8 “Celebrate, holiday, celebrate.” Etc. 🥳

How do you show the love?

The other day a client asked me to define how I work with leaders.

“I show them the love.”

It’s true. And often why clients hire me. But it still feels bold to say it out loud.

Which is odd, because showing the love is a leadership superpower. One that’s powerfully enabling: it channels you to elevate everyone. And I love showing, feeling, and seeing others show the love. But it doesn’t get nearly the recognition or analysis it deserves.

Why is that? And why do I feel bold for owning it? Perhaps it feels safer to stick with Certified Leadership Credentials(TM). Or perhaps it’s another, related reason: showing the love is tricky to pin down. You know it when you feel it. But what does that mean? It is touchy-feely-yuck? (Let’s just get this out the way: no!) But also: wot?

Well, exactly. Which is why it’s only in recent years that I’ve fully embraced it.[1] And only now that I’m writing this.[2]

What is showing the love?

Showing the love isn’t something you do. It’s a feeling you communicate. But it’s hard to quantify a feeling. And even harder when it can be created differently by different people. But again: you know it when you feel it. Which is exactly what happened last week.

I was observing a workshop. My colleague was in the thick of it, delivering to a polite if wary crowd of senior execs. But as the session began to unfold I noticed their reticence give way to a kind of, well, exuberance:

Enthusiastic chipping in instead of waiting on (other) volunteers
Intense curiosity about where they aligned or diverged instead of just skimming the surface
Having an actual conversation instead of just saying answers[3]
Speaking honestly instead of keeping it safe

What was behind that shift? Right from the off, she showed them the love. She dialled into who she is: upbeat, irreverent, unafraid. She showed up with total clarity of intention: she wasn’t vague or hesitant. And, although showing the love isn’t without risk, she embraced that risk and leaned right in.

Let’s be clear: she also had great content, buckets of experience, and trusting sponsors. But the commitment from those leaders wasn’t just down to what she delivered. Or to buy-in from the big boss. It was a response to the feeling she created – by showing the love.

But how do you show the love?

Not necessarily like someone else. Which, again, makes it hard to quantify. Let’s dive into another example, this one with a very different vibe.

A mate of mine regularly tutors on a residential, application-only course. The tutors are experts, the attendees cock-a-hoop to be there, and unsurprisingly it’s all marvellous.[4] Except last time, the final exercise flipped his group from triumph to freak out. A week of excited thinking, talking, doing then:
S I L E N C E.

He could have ignored their discomfort. Or rescued them. Instead, he showed the love. What did that look like? Enabling them, with all of his compassion and acuity, to get curious about their discomfort. What was its texture? Where might it have come from? Where might it take them?

The love was there in his choice to lean right into who he is: perceptive, compassionate, kind. It was in his clarity of intention, and the feeling of safety he communicated.[5] It was there in his willingness to risk his own vulnerability. And because they felt the love, the group managed to swim with their discomfort and get home safely.

How and why they showed the love was different for my mate and my colleague. But I think they exercised similar muscles to help people feel it:

Leaning into who they are to create a personal connection even in a crowd[6]
Leading with clarity of intention instead of being vague or intermittent
Dialling themselves up to be a bit extra instead of doing extra
Meeting people where they are so they feel seen, not unsafe
Embracing the risk of showing the love, with no guarantee of the response[7]

What does it feel like?

Noticing how you feel the love can help you figure out how you show it. So here’s an example from a recipient of the love – me.

I was leading a precarious project. Think: widespread reluctance, endless provocation, dysfunctional everything. We weren’t burdened with problems so much as relentlessly bedraggled. And through it all, the client showed me the love. I couldn’t quantify it in the moment, but I absolutely, unmistakably felt it.

What did it feel like? Unstinting trust. Trust that we’d get there, trust in fast iteration, total trust in me – in who I am and everything I bring.[8] How did they create that? By being themselves on full beam – not inadvertently but with clear intention. And they never wavered. They never ran from the risk. I knew where I was with them: safe.

So when they eventually asked me why I hadn’t run for the hills, my answer was instant:

You showed me the love.

It wasn’t nice, or kind or cheering. Showing me the love was powerfully enabling. I didn’t need someone to hold my hand. I needed someone to have my back while I rebuilt the ship, held off the storms[9] and steered us to shore. And we got there. Verrrrry bruised, but with success in our sails. The power of love? I think so.

Impertinent Questions

Intrigued by the love? Feeling it, showing it, what is it? Let’s get curious with some impertinent questions. (Click here for an expanded, downloadable version.)

🤔 When have you felt the love?
How did you experience it? What did it enable in you? What did safety feel like?

🤔 Where do you notice the love?
Who elevates an interaction? What feelings are they channelling? How do people respond?

🤔 How do you show the love?
When do you make a difference by being, not doing? Which qualities do you dial up? What vibe are you creating?

Of course, you might show the love and… nothing. If so, don’t be downhearted. (But do get curious.[10]) Because whatever happens, showing the love sharpens your mettle. It exercises your muscle for risk. It clarifies who you are as a leader. It builds your confidence to show up with that clarity. Not hesitantly or inadvertently, but deliberately and courageously.

You can’t show the love indiscriminately. You’d be knackered. And probably too much. But also: there’s no need. So preserve it for moments that call for a different, deeper quality of connection. Like with those wary leaders, or that freaked out group, or me on that hazardous project. Because showing the love is special. It’s extra. It’s a hard-to-quantify superpower. What’s love got to do with it? Everything.[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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FOOTNOTES

[1] I used to send it to Coventry. Which wasn’t entirely silly then, but I’m glad I don’t now.

[2] With thanks to the very kind people who supplied feedback, examples and helped me wade through the mess!

[3] There’s a difference between actively figuring out and passively saying.

[4] Plus: every evening starts with sherry hour. What’s not to love?

[5] You can’t just announce a “safe space”. You have to create it, not least by communicating a feeling of safety. Showing the love really helps, because it asks you to be clear in who you are – and to meet people where they are (bleugh, brilliant, wherever).

[6] Which doesn’t mean taking up all the space. Or being an arse. (Personally, I like to save that for my family.)

[7] Being not just you, but you on full beam, can be terrifying. But ultimately, there’s less friction in being who you are than who you’re not. It’s clearer. It builds trust faster because people know what to expect. It’s probably what people value in you anyway. And you get further because the effort of masking can be redirected somewhere more useful.

[8] This was everything. I’ll never forget it.

[9] Other ‘s’ words spring to mind.

[10] It’s an excellent antidote. Refer back to your impertinent questions. What still sounds right? What doesn’t? How can you gather more evidence?

[11] What a woman, 100% showing the love. 🔥💪💔

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.

---

 [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.

---

[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!