Entry Level

The biggest fear when taking an entry level job is whether you’ll end up doing meaningful work. I still remember fretting that I’d spend the summer of my first “real” internship in the U.S. Senate fetching coffee and making copies (I didn’t end up fetching coffee…the copies, yeah, there was some of that).

It can seem like the way to protect against this is to ask lots of very specific questions about the role: what exactly will my responsibilities be? What will a typical day look like? This can help you a bit, but it can also backfire, because the best places for you might be the ones where these questions don’t get the clearest answers (also, it’s tricky to ask these sorts of questions and still communicate that you understand that your job is going to be to make those around you more successful, and that you’re willing to take a “whatever it takes” attitude.)

Better, I’ve found, to focus on two things.

First, when talking to your potential supervisor, figure out if she seems genuinely to care about the people around her, and that she will devote mindshare and energy to investing in you. For example, you could ask a question like, “can you describe someone who has worked for you who has gone on to do great things?” and then focus as much on the energy she has in answering the question as on the content of what she says.

Second, and probably most helpful: try to work in a place that is dynamic and growing. If a place is dynamic and growing, that means that new and unexpected (but cool and exciting) things are going to come down the pike. And if the place is dynamic and growing, that also means that it’s probably not fully resourced to attack that next great opportunity – that’s where you’re going to come in.

In these sorts of places, you’ll hear lots of answers about the general arc of growth and the future, but you won’t hear exactly the specific thing you’ll get to work on…because people don’t know, yet.

For a fun example, check on this great rap by the Ladies of Hamilton, with the lead part (of Alexander Hamilton) played by Morgan Marcell. Morgan is new to Broadway and she’s part of the Hamilton ensemble. There’s no conversation she could have had with the show’s producers or directors that could have predicted that the Hamilton cast would put out YouTube videos that would be seen more than 300,000 times. But she joined something she believed in, she put in the work, she did enough that her peers recognized her talents, and she worked with people who were proud to shine a spotlight on her when the opportunity arose.

And when it did, she was ready to step up.

(Oh, and @Lin_Manuel, yes, I do enter the lottery every day….)

No windup

I do four kinds of exercise: play squash, run, swim, and do yoga. A more accurate portrayal is that I mostly play squash, and do the other three every so often. This week, though, because of the warmer weather, earlier sunrise, and jetlag, I’ve run four times in 8 days.

One of the things that’s beautiful about running is that there’s almost no windup and wind-down: no place to drive to, no plan to make, no excess anything on either side. In 45 minutes set aside for a run, 40 of those minutes are spent running. Get dressed, lace up your shoes, and go.

Early yesterday morning, tired and cranky, I was wondering why I had dragged myself out of bed to run two days in a row. I had finished tying my shoes and I was standing at my back door looking for some way to stall (what I would have given for a fifteen minute drive to the gym!) It felt like there was a physical barrier I had to push through to get myself up and out the door. I walked out of my house, walked onto the street, kept walking for one more block, started the music on my phone, and finally had no choice but to start jogging slowly.

Similarly, earlier this week a colleague and I found ourselves with only 35 minutes at the end of a long day in which to get some important work done. Neither of us seemed up for it and I almost suggested we not bother. We chatted and stalled for a little, and we nearly got pulled into email on our open laptops. But then we began.

In both cases – the run and the 30 minute conversation that should have taken two hours – it was easy to be fooled that I needed more windup, more buffer, more something between me and the work.

Then I get out there and reconfirm what I seem to need to relearn each and every time: that the windup is nothing more than stalling; and that the correlation between how I feel beforehand and how the work goes is nearly zero.

At their best

It’s difficult, in the swirl of the day-to-day of getting things done, for everyone in your organization to fully see each other.

What you can look out for, though, are moments of greatness, those glimpses of someone shining in ways only they can shine, delivering something that is truly exceptional.

This reminds us what to look out for, and it reminds us how to get noticed.

“Exceptional” “shining” and “greatness” don’t need to be flashy.

You can be exceptionally responsive, exceptionally amazing at hitting deadlines, exceptionally quick to help out a colleague.

You can shine at research, shine at learning new skills, shine at building relationships of trust that allow your organization to hear real feedback.

You can be great at collaboration, great at giving constructive feedback, and great at helping colleagues be courageous.

Go above and beyond in ways that make a real difference, expect that in yourself and in others, and always be on the lookout for glimpses of people at their best.

 

TGIM

“It’s almost there. Today’s Thursday,” I hear a fellow passenger say to her friend as we all walk off the train. Yet another person counting the seconds until the weekend.

(At that moment, she had 115,200 seconds to go.)

On and on we tromp down the endless treadmill, until, perhaps, we step up and step off.

It is especially rare to wake up one day and muster the courage to jump off alone. The treadmill’s moving too fast, and we might hurt ourselves when we jump.

What gets us there is the slow, consistent work of finding like-minded people to dream with, to experiment with, to discover what a different world might look like. We draw our courage from them, as they do from us.

When the moment finally does come to leap, we are surrounded by a community trust, that catches us, shows us the way, and cushions the fall.

Happy Monday to you.

15 ways you can reach me

Today a friend apologized to me for not seeing a Skype text I’d sent him last week (no problem). This got me thinking about the incoming communication tools that I have, all the ways people can reach me.

  1. Work email address (Outlook)
  2. Personal email address (Gmail)
  3. Blog email address (Gmail)
  4. Blog comments (WordPress)
  5. Spam/shopping email address (Yahoo)
  6. iPhone text
  7. WhatsApp (including a few groups)
  8. Twitter (DMs, RTs and mentions)
  9. Skype calls + texts [oh, and I’m testing Viber]
  10. Facebook (and I don’t use the messenger app)
  11. LinkedIn messages
  12. Work phone + voicemail
  13. Cellphone + voicemail
  14. Home phone + voicemail
  15. [Local cell phone while traveling abroad]

Fifteen different communications tools, and I’m not that active on any of the social media platforms. Nor does this make any reference to my going out and seeking news, updates and information (blog RSS feed, Twitter feed, Facebook feed, LinkedIn Feed, etc.).

This feels like an insane list. I guess Facebook and Google want to consolidate everything for me so I’m not jumping between platforms, but I don’t trust either enough to have that feel like a good solution.

Is this just the way it is, or am I missing something?

I’m curious: how many ways can you be reached?

(p.s. Eric Schmidt wrote a piece for Time about email, which includes the maxim “Clean out your inbox constantly.” I totally disagree. Where do we draw the line in terms of our incoming communications streams, and when are we supposed to do real thinking and work if we’re triaging 15 (20? 30?) feeds all day long?).

Your questions grow up with you

Do I want to be a superhero or drive a firetruck?

Do I want to be a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer or a veterinarian?

Do I want to be a salesperson, an entrepreneur, an investment banker or a professor?

Goldman or Morgan? TFA or Robin Hood? Charter school or public school? Facebook or Google?

Until, eventually:

What kinds of problems do I want to solve?

How much direction do I need?

And how much do I want those around me to need?

What kind of approval do I seek?

Do I like creating new things or polishing others’ great ideas?

Do I work best with people who are highly structured or more free form?

Do I thrive or crack under pressure?

Do I want a workspace that is quiet or loud?  Open or closed?

What happens when I’m in the spotlight? What should?

How do I manage my time to be most effective?

How hard can I work in a sustained way?

Am I a starter or a finisher?

Do I process information best alone or in groups?   In conversation or in writing?

How important is culture to me?   Values?

What does leadership mean to me?

How do I make others shine?

The sprint at the end

The sprint at the end of a project does get you there.  It focuses your and your team’s energy, keeps the pressure on, and is an occasion for heroic efforts.  It can work.

Except.

Except it only really works when you guess right about where that finish line is.  It only really works when you time everything just right, so that you cross the finish line just at the moment when your and your team’s energy is about to run out.

Meaning that, once you hit maximum velocity you’ve closed yourself off to discovery, closed yourself off to noticing, a good ways down the path, that you need to make a turn, you need to double down, you need to shore up for a longer haul.

That tortoise was on to something.