better work newsletter #35

GUESS WHAT: Our group coaching program early bird registration is now open! 🥳 If you're done asking yourself, "What's next?" and ready to move Forward on Purpose, click here to join the first cohort at a special price 🫰🏼.​

🍿 Popcorn Slinger
🦮 Dog Walker
📹 Blockbuster Cashier (RIP)
🧮 High School Math Teacher
🎓University Instructor
🤝🏼 Nonprofit Program Manager
🤓 Education Consultant
🌎 International Program Director
🖥️ Salesforce Business Analyst
✏️ Project Manager

These are just some of the paid jobs I've had over the last 25 years. Each one represents a door in my career. When I turned a new handle, I let my gut take the lead.

Some had felt certain. Others felt like huge leaps. None of them were my career's final destination. Not one.

I was constantly picking a new door. I desperately wanted to be that person who knew exactly what they wanted and made it their life's mission to do that thing.

I once thought I was that person until I blew up my life after my first big-girl job.

I did everything right and ended up being so wrong about what I wanted.

So I gave myself permission to test things out and accidentally became a specialist at being a generalist.

🧠 Blame my curious mind.

🌪️ Blame my inability to stay still.

💔 Blame my fear of choosing wrong again.

Either way, I couldn't settle into a forever role no matter how hard I tried. I circled the question of my life's purpose so many times it drove me insane. Indecision felt like running through a maze of hallways with the alarms blaring:

🚨"What do I want?!"
🚨"WHAT DO I WANT?!"

The only way to stop the madness was to escape the hallway. I'd throw myself through a new door, doing the mental gymnastics to justify why I picked it.

• “The pay’s better.”
• “Remote work is so flexible.”
• “I’ll have a bigger impact here.”

All were true and bullshit.

When the shine of the next new thing wore off, my husband found me curled in the fetal position on the couch, leveled by the weight of the indecision.

Distracted, distant, discouraged. I lost so much time and momentum in these lows.

Over and over and over again.

For the longest time I thought I was looking for clarity, but I wouldn't have recognized clarity even if it came up and introduced itself.

Instead, I kept looking for certainty - the equivalent of a ghost.

Every new direction felt like an attempt to answer the same question: “Can somebody please tell me if this new door will work this time?”

It's not just me.

Earlier this year I ran an anonymous survey, and I found someone asking the same question.

What haunts me

One of my survey questions was: "What's the smallest, simplest thing you wish someone would just tell you how to do?" and there's this answer that haunts me.

Somebody responded, "I want certainty. I want someone to say, 'If you do x, you will FOR SURE achieve y.'"

It's a relatable want. The math teacher in me still has a soul-deep desire for certainty.

I'd bet that this survey taker spent most of their life being rewarded for planning ahead. A classic “Type A.” Big planner and high-achiever.

School, then work, taught them that preparation was control. But preparation is preparation. Control is something else entirely.

We were conditioned to believe that being proactive meant you are a smart and responsible person worthy of love and respect. We got really good at solving problems (and not just our own).

Along the way we fooled ourselves into thinking that we can control everything we encounter. Anxiety convinces us that if we think hard enough or prepare thoroughly enough, we can eliminate uncertainty.

We live in a time that feels perpetually on a catastrophic edge. We want to get more than two steps into the plan before the rug is pulled out from under us.

We watched too many promises and social contracts (and laws) be broken by the absurdly wealthy who think that the rules don't apply to them.

We want that certainty more than ever, but certainty is a luxury most of us can't afford.

The best we can do is commit to our purpose, and figure things out as they change.

But what if you also abandoned the pursuit of 'certainty' altogether?
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Back in the hallway

In the last issue of better work, I introduced a doors-and-hallway metaphor. We all want to know with certainty what's behind each door when we’re choosing our next career step.

But I tossed a truth bomb in there.

The real question isn't "Which door is the right one?" It's "Why are you in the hallway in the first place?"

Most people assume the answer to resolving their anxiety or dread is to increase their productivity. If they increase their output, then they increase their odds of being safe.

Instead of sitting still, high-achievers do away with that discomfort: they busy themselves.

But when you fill your time with avoiding discomfort (running away), you fall into the trap of Parkinson’s Law, succinctly defined as: “You stretch out the completion of your tasks until they fill the time available to complete them.”

Helpful, unhelpful - doesn't matter. As long as you're doing something, you feel like you're in control.

The half-finished crochet project, the Peloton that turned into an expensive clothing rack, the stack of books next to your bed, another certification you don't need.

People will fill their day with stuff and call it 'being strategic with their time.' I would believe them if their bodies didn't betray them - their eyes dart, they squirm in their chairs.

Deep down they know they need to stop, they just don't know how.
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Why boredom feels threatening

Doing nothing is not easy. It's hard as fuck.

The main challenge of being in a liminal space, or as I call it the hallway, is to empty your mind and let yourself be bored.

Being bored is a form of torture. Some of us (okay, me) can't stand in line for two minutes at the post office without checking our phones.

When that hallway is packed with busyness, there’s no room left for anything new. No space for creativity or possibility. Despite our brains’ constant pull towards stimulation, boredom is good for us.

You can't add anything to an overflowing bucket. You have to empty it for something new.

Emptiness makes room for your potential.

That's why your best ideas come in the shower - it's just you and the water. But you can't afford hour long showers in this economy, so try to replicate this brain space outside of the bathroom.

For example: when I'm on the metro or bus, if I feel safe enough, I close my eyes. I don't meditate or nap. I just close my eyes and lower the stimulus I’m taking in.

You could do it anywhere. Like that 90 second window before a Zoom meeting starts. Or that elevator ride to the top floor. Put your hands by your side and close your eyes.
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This is an example of the tolerance blind spot in action. Holding the tension over time, letting things evolve at their own pace, that is worthwhile.

And it is usually slower than the pace of your ambition.
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Forward on Purpose

The next move isn't about picking the right door. It's being able to stand in the hallway long enough that the right one reveals itself.

That's why I designed a group coaching program, Forward on Purpose.

Over 8 weeks, you'll have the space, structure, and accountability to be honest about who you are, what you want, and where you're headed next.

We'll show you how you can test out something new without overhauling your life or taking away the little free time you have left.

We've worked with full-time working mamas, military spouses managing international moves, and burned out corporate leaders.

I've spent more time in that hallway than I care to admit. I know what it's like to outgrow a path you thought was certain and end up in a ball on your couch.

I also know how to help people find solid ground when the next step isn't obvious.
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👉🏻 Early bird registration is open. There are only 6 spots. Click here to learn more.
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Take care of yourself,

Susan