Once at a house party I was asked what I did for a living – panicked, I replied, ‘geography teacher’. It wasn’t the question but knowing my truthful answer that evoked a sense of panic. Bitter experience had taught me that blandly answering ‘I work for the council’ was to invite a diatribe on all that is wrong in the town. Usually this started with bins and potholes before – especially if alcohol was involved – escalating into a critique of what’s wrong with the world more broadly. My spur-of-the-moment alternative, it turns out, limited the conversation to, at best, a throw-away comment about ox-bow lakes or capital cities before my fellow party-goers pivoted onto a topic they had more to say about.
The latest leg of this part of my life called career was in the humanitarian sector – perhaps an unlikely destination for the guy whose first job was in a vegetable processing factory in deepest rural Norfolk back in the mists of time. I feel fortunate that my work has (mostly) been meaningful and intellectually stimulating/challenging, both things hindsight teaches are important for me. In curating a curious career I’ve hopped between sectors, organisations and roles, which has given me deep learning and insights around what works and what doesn’t, what’s nuanced or specific to context and what might be a common pattern or universal truth. But it still makes it hard to answer that simple yet annoying question at a party or networking event1: so what is it you do? (as if that’s the most important thing to find out about a stranger).
On the one hand I can just repeat my latest job title: I’m a researcher or partnerships manager or humanitarian or consultant. But they sound pretty bland in comparison with professions, frames that bring with them preconceptions of the work: teacher, electrician, housing officer, academic or postman. When people talk about specialists I think this is generally what they mean: recognisable endings to the phrase: I am a…’.
I’ve never had a clear noun to append.
The geographer in me knows how to understand places and identify the social challenges and opportunities that emerge; the systems auditor in me can spot challenges in an organisation’s operation and and design better governance and processes; the behavioural scientist in me makes sense of why people do what they do and can support their change efforts; the complex systems practitioner in me sees interactions and spaces and can identify the next viable step; the convenor in me knows the need to engage partners around a problem and how to break down silos to create change; the social innovator in me knows how to design and test and land new ways of doing things; the evaluator in me knows how to figure out how things are going and what we’re learning; the strategist in me knows how to surface insights and pull everything together to help a team or an organisation take coherent actions. The student in me knows the limitations of the above and the need to seek alternative perspectives. But let’s be honest, that reads like a list of disparate job roles and not the coherent curation of a career.
When I look back at the things that really motivated me in my career, though, those times of energy and excitement in the work, patterns emerge. I have always loved helping people and teams do things differently. Challenging practices where old ways no longer work and new ways need to be found. The knottier the problem, the more entrenched the ways of working, the better. Helping organisations and teams in this way isn’t an end in itself but a means to improve the lives of people and fabric of communities they serve. While my perspective and insights helps teams and organisations be more effective, I generally wouldn’t want to do their work myself. I’ve come to terms with this. More strategic advisor than a front line practitioner.
I’m not motivated by the thought of running or attending community meetings2, standing for election, or leading a movement for change. I’m not wired to be a joiner or at the heart of social groups; more comfortable in my own company and going deep into questions most don’t ask I’m more suited to bringing a quiet challenge to the prevailing norms. Surfacing insights that can transform, that help people reframe things or take a new perspective.
I’m drawing so much energy from helping the youth work team in Shropshire develop new systems, leadership capabilities, processes and partnerships and so better serve the needs of young people. But I wouldn’t want to be a youth worker. In NHS Lothian I equipped a cross-functional team united by a desire to challenge the status quo with the tools, practices and provocations to bring their ideas to life. But I wouldn’t want to a health professional. I love helping organisations operate more effectively as I can see the car crash about to happen or the changes that are needed – and how to take things forward. I’ve helped clients shift culture and accommodate new ways of working across a disparate workforce. But that’s not to say I have a burning ambition to be a CEO – I want to help make a difference in the world not run an organisation.
Because I’m not trained and conditioned to think like a youth worker or a health professional or a humanitarian I can see the blind spots, peer into the shadows, challenge conventions and practices and bring my wider perspectives to the issues they face. Which is clear value. By helping organisations bring coherence to their operations I help them be more focused and sustainable. By helping font-line teams do what they do better, I help them create the change that’s needed. Change that improves the world of those they serve.
That’s my core strength.
1 Or to pithily complete your LinkedIn byline – which commonly takes the form of ‘I help X (people) achieve Y (things)’.
2 Which I know having done this numerous times before when I worked in Local Government
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