A Spring Dance

“It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent” 

― Madeleine K. Albright

That’s not true, of course. I’ve always had a voice, sometimes too strident, sometimes out of tune with the world. I’ve been, at times, fearless in speaking out; at others, I’ve kept quiet when I shouldn’t (but not often). I’ve also occasionally put it out there and then retreated for fear of offending, of making a fool of myself. 

The safest place for my voice was in conversation with people, which, fortunately for me, I usually get paid to do. Advising businesses and their leaders, mentoring, and coaching senior people is rewarding; we have common ground in business and life, more often than not. My personal experiences, learning and interests mean that I can help clients to insights and conclusions they might have taken longer to find on their own. 

In the best conversations, a paradigm shift takes place and a client watches a challenge, problem or fear shape-shift in front of him/her, opening up new options, a new way of working, thinking or being. Of course, the benefit for me is that my assumptions and preconceptions (because, yes, we all have those) are laid bare for scrutiny. I inevitably take my own views into these conversations and find myself challenging them internally, the natural outcome of talking with intelligent people who often see the world differently to you. 

It’s deeply rewarding work and gives me as much as it gives clients. 

People are entitled to their own opinions - this freedom is what we cherish most - but they are not entitled to their own facts. That has never stopped anyone, myself included, expressing opinions to whomever might listen, and I’ve been pretty much ok with that. 

Until recently. Since this bloody virus popped up and reminded us that we aren’t in control of anything, and never were, I’ve been having conversation after conversation where I’ve had to talk clients off window-ledges of fear, despair, confusion; spirals of negative thinking and catastrophising. The fuel is, of course, the endless barrage of noise from every direction, the media, politicians, neighbours, families, colleagues, all with their own opinion on what is happening and what is going to happen.

The one repeated loop around which we go, in order to get back off the window-ledge and into the room, my clients and I, is the establishment of facts. Nailing reality. This is much, much harder than it seems, mainly because reality is so fragile and subjective. My reality and yours are not the same.

But when we can pull out all the opinion, exaggeration, obfuscation, and rhetoric, lay them in front of us on the table, and look at the facts underlying them without anger, prejudice or fear, we gain the opportunity to think calmly, to plan, to see the options previously obscured by our emotions; and to go forward, lighter and more clear-sighted. 

From the start of lockdown, we have all had to work differently, some more than others. My clients have always come to me by word of mouth or by casual meeting in the course of business; we’ve chatted over coffees and done the dance that is human beings getting to know each other. That’s going to be tough from now on.

My voice is going to have to get out there, to replicate that physical and conversational dance, but in both our absences. So you can get to know me here, through my writing and through what people say about me.

I hope that everything I write is very much better than silence, and I hope you enjoy it, that I make you think, deeply and happily. 

If you want to talk to me after that, you know where I am.