October is one horrifying month. Yeah, there’s Halloween and we’re closing in on the end of the world as we know it – otherwise known as the US 2020 election – but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about our goals. The stuff we said we’d deliver on. All that stuff that looked so possible & promising in January? We’ve got, like, this month to get it squared away before all of the US workforce takes off on holiday, trying to use up all their postponed vacation time.
You know what I mean. You just can’t count on a full staff for the last two weeks in November and December, even in a good year. You know you can’t count anything in 2020.
So where does that leave you and your goals? A little freaked out, am I right?
Look, yes you need to deliver at work. You need to check out your objectives, figure out where you can squeeze a few more in, and maybe get ready to explain what really happened this year. (Good luck with that. ) For the most part, that should be easy. Get yourself a nice hot cup of coffee, shuffle into your home office, aka, the dining room, and with a calm and relaxed manner, go check the list.
But that’s not what happens for a lot of us. For a lot of us, checking out all the high flung ideas we had ten months ago looks more like restlessly shuffling back to the kitchen wondering if it’s too early to start in on the potato chips, then plunking down in front of the old laptop, flicking through emails, while a familiar unease settles in our gut and we work faster and faster until finally, the day is gone, our eyes can hardly focus and we can knock off for the day – without checking that list.
What the heck is that about?
If you’re like me, that’s about confusing your project with yourself.
I got a great lesson on this topic this week when I tried to vote my mail-in ballot. I sat down, made sure I had a clear table, with no coffee to spill, a perfect black pen and plenty of light. I read the instructions carefully. I voted cautiously, filling in each oval like I was playing a real-life version of mine sweeper. I got the correct paper into the correct envelope, didn’t detach the wrong thing, peeled of the correct thing, sealed it up. One last step. I needed to sign it. I took my pen and started on my given name.
And then my brain kicked in. My signature didn’t look like my signature, did it? I hesitated. Now what should I do? I put pen to paper and finished off my surname. NO! That looked nothing like my signature. I asked my husband. Should I cross it out? No! He insisted it was fine. I put the ballot in the second envelope, sealed it and fretted. We drove our ballots to the drop box, made a production of it, brought the dog. We put them in the slot and then – I was certain that my ballot would be rejected. I had failed to sign my name enough like I sign my name.
This is the most important election of my life. Except, of course, for 2018 , which was pretty gnarly. And 2016, which was super important. And then there was 2000, and the year I drove around with a banner for Michael Dukakis on my truck or the year I voted for Ross Perot. Those seemed important. But this is the most important election ever – and my vote wasn’t going to count.
My consternation grew until I was forced to sit down and coach myself. Here’s what I found – I’m pretty sure the state I live in will go the way it always does. I’m pretty sure our local and state elections are going to go the way they always do. My vote, in the grand scheme isn’t likely to change much.
But my vote matters to me. I want to vote; I always vote. Failing to vote and in such a daffy way as not being able to sign my name – seems to say something about me as a person. Like maybe I’m a fruitcake and not nearly as smart as I think I am. Failing at this simple task called into question a lot of things about myself.
I kept coaching myself – it didn’t take long to realize all my agitation was the result of me confusing my vote – with myself. My vote is a mark on a paper, indicating who I’d like to see in office. It’s not me. It’s not even a symbol of me. Let’s face it – a lot of my life, I haven’t even voted well. Voting is something I do, but if I fail to vote, I’m still a nice woman from Jersey who tries to be kind to people at the grocery store. I’m still me.
The same thing applies at work.
You are not your project. Your project isn’t even a symbol of you.
If you’re good at your project, it means you’re good at your project. It doesn’t mean you’ll be good at the next one. And conversely, if you ball it all up, you can still do well on the next one.
Again, you are not your job performance.
How do I know? Who are you if you don’t have your project? Are you someone else? No. You’re still you. With a different job, still you.
For more on this, check out Lesson 7 on my 30 Lessons page.
Why is it important to keep the idea of who we are separate from the work we do?
Because all that time I was fretting about my ugly signature, here’s what I wasn’t doing – I wasn’t calling the county clerk to see if there was anything to be done. I wasn’t fully focused on the rest of my life and I wasn’t enjoying myself or adding value. When we conflate what we do with who we are, we risk handicapping ourselves with fear. We make it all too much, and we over-react.
All of that drama takes away from actually doing the stuff we wanted to do. All of that, makes our worst thoughts more likely.
October 2020 is hard enough. Don’t make it harder by confusing who you are with what you do.
And that? Is just a better way to finish the year.