Play At Work

Jackie: Lessons in Brand Management

January 31, 2017

Anybody concerned with the creation of brand stories – be they personal, corporate or organisational – would be well-advised to go and see Jackie, the Pablo Larraín directed biopic of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis.

As it happens, the film isn’t really a biopic at all.

If you want to discover more of a sense of the character of this most enigmatic of 20th century icons, far better to listen to the Schlesinger tapes, where her wit and wisdom shine out beyond the halo of the Camelot myth (I’d also recommend watching the 1975 documentary Grey Gardens, where you’ll find a fine sense of the world and time she came from, and that that voice is remarkably similar to her cousin Little Edie’s).

Jackie is, on one level, a portrait of a particular woman’s response to a catastrophic event – a study in the initial aftermath of post-traumatic stress and the dizzying swirl that engulfs you in the first hours and days of sudden death, dealing, simultaneously, with the descent of grief, the business of grieving, and computing a new, unimaginable reality.

On another level, possibly a discordant one, Jackie is a portrait of a particular woman’s ability at superlative brand management in the midst of chaos, violence and dissent.

Plenty of us find ourselves managing brands in the midst of, if not violence, certainly chaos and dissent, so what are the lessons Jackie can teach us?

Know your purpose

All leaders seek to create a legacy. All leaders seek to change things for the better. Any leader who doesn’t shouldn’t expect any one to follow them.

Kennedy wanted to change a lot of things. He came to power with great hope, stumbled, learned, and was ready to win a second term (he even had a few ideas as to what he might like to do after that term).

He was denied the opportunity.

Jackie, knowing his purpose, sharing it, saw her purpose in the world-splitting wake of his death – for him and her nation – was to honour his. She had to fight for the opportunity. She was unyielding, cementing the idea that the legacy of JFK had to be his ideas (as the actions were half-finished and could so easily be undone; this was a woman who understood naked, brutal power – she’d met it often enough).

What are we trying to do here?

What are we trying to say?

Why are we trying to do it?

What do we want to change?

How do we want to be remembered?

If you struggle to answer these questions, you need to uncover, or rediscover, your brand purpose.

How might you do that?

Know your history

Both Jack and Jacqueline were history buffs. When his drive to carve out his place in history was arrested after 1037 days, her drive became to secure his place for eternity (quite literally, in fact, with the eternal flame at Arlington).

His achievements may not stack up against the monumental Lincoln, but Lincoln’s shared death could contextualise Kennedy’s assassination, his funeral inform the precedents for a slain president; both serving to further elevate Kennedy’s standing through the power of association.

Jackie knew this wasn’t just a tragedy for her, her children and the Kennedy clan. It was an American Tragedy. Tragedy requires grandeur. Grandeur demands majesty. Majesty inclines dignity.

By knowing her history, she knew where to look for inspiration; what that grandeur and dignity should look like.

From launch, a brand has a heritage. The genesis of a company, a product, a Twitter profile, came from somewhere, some place of intent. Start-ups can struggle to keep this alive, where that intent, that vision, can be precarious in infancy; established brands can easily lose sight of it or forget it even exists.

When lost, going back to the beginning can be a good place to start to find your way again.

Know your archetypes

Whether inventing, invigorating, galvanising or celebrating a brand, if you want to be legendary, you better know your myths.

Myths echo and morph across all cultures. They create shortcuts to meaning, understanding. They are the stories coded into our DNA. The stories we tell over and over in all our stories, consciously or not.

And myths, as Jackie knew, are borne of other myths.

John. F. Kennedy was a little boy inspired by heroic tales. A man who wanted to generate, and deliver, heroic ideas. For Jackie, clearly, he was her Knight in Shining Armour (she would need another later and, though he didn’t exactly look the part, along came Onassis).

JFK did look the part, perfectly cast for the shining Knight; perfectly cast for the slain hero, with what-might-have-been intwined so perfectly into the myth that he’s endured as a spectre to every successor he’s had.

One hundred years after his birth, JFK is the archetypal president.

And the final, most important, lesson from Jackie?

Keep it simple.

Camelot.

Metonymic status should always be the brand goal (Google it). The whole story in one word. The essence. The myth. The heritage. The values.

For the Kennedy presidency, the golden hope; the tragic end.

In looking down to Camelot, Jacqueline Kennedy connected the past to the present, the present to an unforgettable future, deftly weaving the Kennedy myth into the legend of King Arthur (say Camelot today and how many people think Kennedy before King Arthur).

She also, in launching this ‘brand’ to the world, tapped into the zeitgeist with a popular, contemporary expression of the myth via the musical Camelot (creating a sonic ident in the process) – “Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot.“

As Jackie shows, this wasn’t in vain. The myth of Camelot is as powerful today as it was half a century ago. It still shines.

Genius.

And, above all, an act of love.
Who’s The Boss? Leadership & Authenticity

January 18, 2017

When it comes to authentic leadership, are you ready to nail your colours to the wall?

After the piercing tone of 2016 (a year where the “Oh-my-god-what-now?”-o-meter consistently registered well above fever-pitch panic), have we got any indications yet what note 2017 will strike? Have we any glimmers of the picture ahead from the first colours of the year? A sniff of its flavour?

In one sense, I think we have. 2016 was a year of drastic cast changes when it came to leadership. This year, we’re going to see what kind of performance these new leading lights will pull off (and what kind of impact that will have on those already in their starring roles – and those who would usurp them).

Will 2017 provide a clearer idea of what it means to lead during these restless teenage years of this new century?

Whatever you think of them, you do have to kind of take your hat off to them for giving it a go. Who in their right mind would want to rule this world?

This age of transparency means there’s no where left to hide. This age of anxiety makes it almost impossible to keep some of the people happy just some of the time. And the age of post-truth means, even if you haven’t started the fire, you’ll still be choked by the smoke.

And the only advice any one can really give you? Be authentic.

Corporate or organisational leadership looks a breeze in comparison. There are still places to hide – behind the bean-counters, legal, HR, in your corner office; you may believe if you’re keeping just some of the people happy just some of the time you’re doing just great; and the only people whose scrutiny can really burn you is that of the shareholders.

Imagine if internal newsletters were able to operate like tabloids. Frenzied, sensational, pun-peppered headlines. Vicious slurs on people’s personal appearance or exposés on the seamier aspects of their private lives. Wild speculation around the corporate strategy. They’d get read then, that’s for sure.

Of course, only the naive would believe this doesn’t happen anyway – it just doesn’t go into print (though it can be found in an awful lot of emails). The company grapevine can be as twisted as any red top, and it’s an unwise leader who doesn’t pay attention to it.

Especially now. For employers, the age of transparency is already here – not only via Glassdoor but through individuals’ social media feeds too (example: #BoredAtWork) – but, admittedly, you do have to look for it.

It will, inevitably, get easier to find.

We’re all broadcasters now. We live in glass houses. And people have new means with which to get to grips with the power of protest.

We want to know. We demand to know. For today’s business leader, however much you run, whoever else you send before the crowd, sooner or later, you’re going to have to come out and say something – and you better damn make sure it feels authentic.

That word. The Alpha goal of the modern leader: authenticity. You can’t escape it. And, actually, if you look around, you can see, albeit in very different – indeed, polarised – styles, it is being modelled around us in those we are choosing (or allowing) to lead (whether for good or for ill is up to you to decide).

We have to start with Trump, of course (he wouldn’t have it any other way, would he?). This is the point. He poses as the classic ‘Red-Type’ leader – blunt, assertive, dynamic, able to cut-through, fast-paced, a force of nature – but combines this with the real master stroke in his leadership style with what I’d call Authentic Mutability.

The dynamism springs from this too. It’s that boss that can leap from one thing to another, can arrest on an idea in a flash and drop it just as quickly (the idea being that, in spite of being a grasshopper, they can see when to jump onto the better solution and let go of established ones).

At their best, they can accelerate and implement radical change – and I think this is the hope at the heart of the Trump experiment. The gamble is that, whereas in business very often the best solution is the quickest (or, at least, can be perceived that way if it means you hit your figures), can you apply that same approach to changing a nation and not create equal amounts of destruction in your wake?

Have you the luxury to change your mind? The option to divest your interests? Can you afford to only think in the short-term, to skim over the details?

But, do you know what, the power of Trump’s authentic mutability leads me to believe that, if, after a time in the White House, he turned around and said, “Listen folks, do you know what, this job just isn’t for me, but at least I gave it a shot,” we wouldn’t be all that surprised, and would probably forgive him (including the anti-Trump camp, out of relief if nothing else).

I’m not so sure Theresa May’s Authentic Reticence would ever allow her that forgiveness.

Everything about May says reticence. There’s nothing ‘cut loose’ about her. She looks almost trapped in her own body (I wanted someone to send her a masseuse after watching her latest Brexit speech – she holds her shoulders painfully high).

May displays many traits of the ‘Blue-Type’ leader – considered, detail-obsessed, methodical, introverted. She doesn’t exactly shout ‘people-person’ does she? There is a lot of appeal in the cautious in uncertain times. A steady hand. The biggest thing May has going for her is that no one, whatever they think of her, believes she takes a devil-may-care approach.

The difficulty for this type of leader is displaying authentic emotions. You might have a steady hand, but do you have a steadfast heart? May, like many leaders, runs the risk of lacking all credibility if the values she espouses doesn’t match the policy. And, in direct opposition to Trump, if she falls when there’s a need for speed.

Though we may have quite a good grasp on their characters, it’s not so easy to see the vision from either May or Trump. Not so with Barack Obama and his Authentic Optimism.

The typologists would place Obama in the ‘Yellow-Type’ section of the spectrum: visionary, full of ideas and possibilities, a person who enjoys connecting with people. Neither bullish nor data-driven, this type of leader has a light touch and genuine warmth. They’re good at showing what it means to be in a position of power – and to be a human being – at the same time.

They don’t go low, but sometimes we wonder if they go too high, translating as slightly detached from reality in all their positivity (helpless people can find it hard to swallow talk of hope). This happens a lot in business where you have a leader who is full of the joys and bouncing along the corridors of power while the workforce are gritting (or privately bearing) their teeth.

When everyone else is miserable, a sunny soul can became insufferable (possibly slightly insulting – how can you be so blind?).

The final colour on the leadership wheel is green – the empathetic, naturally democratic, values-driven, supportive leader. Step forward Jeremy Corbyn.

Corbyn – and, indeed, this type of boss – is something of a rarity, and the most notable aspect of this type of leader is how much those close to them want to protect them. Usually people want it to be the other way around, but, because this type likes to get in a little deeper with people, and because they refuse to display the more conventionally applauded combative leadership characteristics, they don’t just have employees, they create disciples.

Refusal is a key word, and, as such, for me, Corbyn owns Authentic Resistance. Even when he is conforming, he looks strait-jacketed in a suit; strait-jacketed into towing the party line. He only appears to be comfortable in his own skin at rallies or on marches (I bet he knows exactly what shoes to wear).

The struggle for these leaders is, while they might be great bosses, they’re not always great leaders. They might keep the team happy, but, after a while, people realise that although they’re being looked after, they’re not actually being developed or pushed (and people are more often than not grateful for a bit of pushing if done in the right way and for the right reason – a belief in them).

This approach can leave everyone being seen as under-performing, and therefore vulnerable – even when the motivations behind it can be rather noble.

For our political leaders, the curtain has not just been drawn but torn down. All reverence lost. We’re staring them right in the face now, like Oliver Cromwell, warts and all (whether we like it or not).

For the business leaders of tomorrow, they’d do well to ask themselves if they could bear the same kind of scrutiny. Soon enough, there may not be a choice. As history continually points out, we all get found out sooner or later. You can’t pretend to be authentic, so you better work out what you’re really about and get your story straight.

Whatever mistakes you might make along the way, keeping it real could be your salvation.
The Culture Club: Why Worrying About Who You Are Is As Important As What You’re Going To Do

September 26, 2016

It’s a popular question for the business leader – “What keeps you awake at night?”

Politically, it’s a tricky one to answer: tell them about something too specific, an operational ‘challenge’, a ‘testy’ market, and you could send the stock descending (or your own, at the very least); be too vague, or too complacent (“Oh, nothing, I sleep like a baby,”), and you could be considered smug or, far worse, out of touch (and find yourself in a real bear market).

A good stock answer is something along the lines of “What are we going to do about X,” – X being a problem to be solved but, ideally, a broad one and something the business leader, or, indeed, company, cannot possibly be held solely accountable for.

Good X responses would be things like getting more women into STEM industries, increasing global internet access, keeping talent in the UK, improving social mobility (you see, even if you do find yourself challenged on what your company is doing about any of these things, you can hopefully namecheck at least one initiative in tandem with the caveat that the problem is part of a much bigger picture).

“What am I/what are we going to do,” is, in all honestly, probably the question that does keep most of us awake.

The more honest answers are probably closer to home (or work, as the case may be). What am I going to do about so-and-so who keeps blocking me, or so-and-so, who’s not coping, or so-and-so, who’s after my job.

We replay conversations, and plan out conversations; we ask ourselves what we could have done differently, what they could have done differently. We plot and prep and remind ourselves of things we consider we need reminding of in the wee small hours of the morning, wide awake.

And sometimes, maybe only sometimes (though, I would say, if you’re doing this every night then something’s got to give), we ask ourselves the really big questions, like “What have I done with my life?” or “So, is this it?”

It’s rare for the Executive to admit to existentially-induced insomnia. Talk to many an enlightened Exec in private, however, and they’ll tell you they spend a lot of time worrying about what kind of culture they’re operating in, what kind of culture they have created or are creating.

Saying that out loud, saying it in public, however, is riskier than admitting it’s your addiction to internet pornography that keeps you awake at night.

The dreaded C-word really does get people steamed up.

It makes sense, when you think about it. In Western Culture, we have promoted the idea of the individual to the extreme; all, and everything, is self-actualisation. No wonder we rebel against the idea that we’re shaped in any way by ‘The Collective’. We think we’re immune to it (especially us cynical Brits).

‘Others’ have ‘culture’. We’re just ‘me’.

The very notion that we might be (even if only slightly) shaped by the organisational cultures of the places we work is outrageous to many. I am no robot. No corporate clone. Some people get very defensive around talk of company culture. It’s all subjective. It’s all a distraction. It’s all talk.

What’s really, really irritating about it (and this really is the crime of this century), is that it’s so damn hard to quantify it. How on earth do you get ‘meaningful’ data about culture? Can we measure it, even if we want to?

No wonder then that few business leaders ever answer the thorny old sleepless in the C-suite question with the realisation so many have come to: what keeps me awake at night is that what I’m going to be able to do depends on the culture I’ve created, and I’m really worried about the kind of culture we have and what I can do about it.

Only the other day, while passively travelling up an escalator at, well, I can’t remember which tube station (I was tired, as I recall, hence my patient ascent), I was struck by a fine example of the mixed messages our culture sends out.

Every other poster panel was advertising some form of baked indulgence (it being Great British Bake Off season, after all): there was some kind of live baking show, baking themed cook books for sale, food themed novels for sale. Every other poster panel, splicing between the sugar and spice in all their candy colours, was advertising bodies beautiful (or, at least, utilising them to sell gym memberships, vitamins, perfume and holiday destinations).

Food and flesh. Basic desires. But, and therein the rub, all those baked goods have no helpful part to play in sculpting those chiselled bodies. Our culture says have this because you should have what you desire, but be this, because otherwise you’ll be undesirable, and it happily puts those diametrically opposed messages side by side. Impossible.

In fact, when it comes to what is desirable, what is acceptable, what is possible and what should be possible, our culture puts out an awful of lot of mixed messages.

In the social media age, seismic cultural shifts can happen seemingly overnight (Caitlyn Jenner on the cover of Vanity Fair springs to mind), but, actually, cultural transformations rarely happen, and truly embed, in the blink of a perfectly lined and lashed eye.

And, when it comes to workplace culture, changing it tends to take a lot of time, and effort (particularly as, when it comes to mixed messages, most workplace cultures are as dizzyingly confused as any multi-poster site).

The biggest challenge is one of definition. Even for those who do believe there is such a thing as a ‘culture’ within an organisation, exactly what that is can be more than a little nebulous.

As a perpetual advocate for simplicity, I think there is a simple definition for culture.

Culture is the stories we tell about who and how we are.

There are the macro stories: the brand model, the marketing plan, the investor statements, the myths.

There are the micro stories: the individual employee tales, the recycled anecdotes, the Glassdoor posts.

There are the examples of values lived, behavioural codes ignored; what’s called out, and what’s condoned; what’s embodied, and what’s pretended. What’s said, and what’s done.

Of course, just as (with the best will and all the introspection in the world) it can be a lifelong mission for us as individuals to work out who and how we are, it’s no easier for an organisation comprised of 3 or 30,000 people to hold up an exacting mirror to themselves. And time, the enemy of us all, is always of the essence.

Self-diagnosis is rarely recommended. For the well-versed outsider (and workplace cultural tourist), divining the culture of a place is relatively easy to discern. In fact, you’re usually hit with it pretty quickly.

Getting the right cross-section of exposure helps: talking to people helps – the leaders, the squeezed middle, the front line; getting the gossip, within and without; looking at how the organisation presents itself, its image and imagery; looking at the tone of communications and conversations; and considering the operational log-jams and where things aren’t working so well (or at all, for that matter).

Get to grips with all that and you can start to get a crystal clear picture of the culture you’re dealing with. The trouble is, it does rely on getting a lot of qualitative, rather than quantitative, data – and that makes a lot of people feel a bit antsy.

Qualitative equals, in some minds, subjective, costly, unreliable and risky. People want the numbers, not the words (forgetting we are hard-wired for stories and that it’s only through using the right words that you can produce the right numbers).

And though getting to grips with your cultural story might not be as convoluted as imagined, changing a culture is about as complex a mandate as you can get. It depends on all those things we’re supposed to dismiss with in business – feelings, emotions, senses and sensibilities – and in bringing together words and actions that connect with people’s feelings and sensibilities.

Touchy-feely stuff indeed.

Should you discover a consistently toxic culture (and there are plenty of these about), that’s not going to make you sleep any easier, is it – after all, to change a toxic culture requires a radical shift in thinking and action. New blood, new leadership, a new narrative, is the likely order of the day. Which means a lot of change – and more sleepless nights – ahead.

Usually, though, it’s a more evolutionary approach that’s required. Amplifying what’s great and what’s good; calling out and confronting what’s bad. Mostly, it’s about a bit of tinkering, a bit of reminding, a bit more storytelling – better storytelling, to untangle all those mixed messages.

To ignore the issue of culture is to ignore the true potential of any organisation. It’s the culture you’re creating, that you’re operating in, that will truly define your future success. Without reflection, there can be no progress.

What keeps me awake at night is worrying about the percentage of business leaders who aren’t worrying about culture, who aren’t in the culture club. After all, we can only change the future of work if we keep culture front of mind.

Too many employees are left asking “Do you really want to hurt me?” of the toxic cultures they work in. It’s only when those at the top wake up to this that we can really start to change that.
Workology: A New School Of Thought On Work In Education

August 5, 2016

Here’s a question for you: what is the study of work? What do we call that? Think about it. There’s Ergonomics, of course, the study of time and motion and the like, but nothing, as far as I can see, that’s very solid on work itself – Workology, as it were.

Considering it’s the very thing most of us will spend most of our waking lives doing, it’s mysteriously absent from the school curriculum. The lamentable performance of any careers advice service at school is so oft repeated it’s a classic comic cliché.

When have you ever heard someone say “Oh yes, my careers service was amazing, totally understood me, opened my mind to things I’d never thought possible and helped set me on the path to achieving them,” – ever?

Me neither (but, if you have, you should be encouraging them to publicise to anyone who will listen who these people were and what they did).

Still, it is encouraging to see the government is pushing for some major reform in terms of the space it is given on the curriculum, more clarity about the channels through which careers advice is provided, and more scrutiny of its quality.

There’s a lot of talk about the need to incentivise schools to do this, and some threats of being downgraded as a consequence of failing to do so.

I would hope most teachers wouldn’t need too much incentive to do this, but I would vouch they might appreciate some help in terms of how to approach weaving ‘Workology’ seamlessly into the curriculum in informative, imaginative and productive ways.

This has always been the problem. Work is a fascinating subject. The genesis of it. The performance of it. The orchestration of it. The psychology of it. The philosophy of it. The social, political, economic and cultural impact it has.

It’s work, not money, that makes the world go around.

Yet, somehow, we can’t formulate it as a coherent subject.

Instead, it becomes a tacked-on, rainy afternoon sort of activity, given little credence by any of those involved. A few talks. Maybe a few questionnaires (if you’re lucky). Maybe a conversation with a careers advisor. Maybe a placement in a relative’s workplace, which (if you’re lucky) usually involves plenty of hanging around waiting for something to do.

The really weird thing is the topic of work is ever present. Right from the off, the tales of the nursery are crowded out with farmers, police officers, firefighters, builders, postal workers (pretty much anyone in uniform, come to think of it).

We learn numeracy playing shops. We play sports people (albeit an elite few) play for a living. We get to experiment with the arts, study in labs like scientists – as obvious, dumb even, as it sounds, there isn’t a skill you learn at school that can’t be directly applied to a job, an industry, a career; millions of jobs and industries and careers.

There isn’t an item you can pick up or look at that can’t be unravelled into hundreds of career opportunities.

A can of soup represents agriculture, manufacturing, mining, commodities trading, distribution, packaging design, marketing, retail, research, commercial art, history of art, cultural studies, fashion (and that’s just for starters).

I think that’s the real root of the problem. There’s too much to know. What knowledge and insights, what skills and experience, would you need to teach work?

If we were to have ‘Work’ lessons, there would be a lot to get in just to cover the sectors, the skills and types of roles people do, let alone be career coach to each individual in class to help them understand their own wiring, passions and skills in order to discover their Work Happy (and where would you find room for all that fascinating philosophical, psychological, political, social, cultural stuff?).

Still, with a bit of lateral thinking, I don’t think it would be impossible.

I think the opportunities just need to be more clearly flagged. The stories more engagingly told. We’re not very good at romancing work, only its spoils. But work – fulfilling, fits you, fires you up work – is so often an act of love.

We just have to find it by ourselves, by accident, stumbling around a little, or a lot.

Like love.

That we can’t teach, we can only demonstrate. But we’d be doing a much better job at showing our love for the next generation if we put the study of work at the heart of study at school.
Tales From Winde Cotig [sic]: Play At Work

July 27, 2016

These are dark times. The world seems to have gone crazier than ever. Senseless horror is a daily occurrence; dangerous men stalk the earth, looking for innocent prey.

No wonder, then, in the midst of all this terror, this new dark age, we’re turning to our children to shed some light for us.

Channel4 have been truly enlightened in seizing on this, with both Gogglesprogs and their Secret Lives Of…series (which, if you are able to watch, I highly recommend you do).

Watching children comment on the world as it is presented to them on Gogglesprogs, or navigate the world as they find it on The Secret Lives Of Brothers And Sisters, we can’t fail to be reminded of our innate better selves.

Their sense of fairness. Their kindness. Their quickness to apologise for hasty actions or mean words. Their resilience and will. This they all share. They wobble, of course they do, but they soon come back to a universal sense of decency, of doing the right thing.

Where does it go? How do so many of us lose the gifts we were given so long ago? Why, as our brains develop, do our hearts contract? Children’s brains have far less capacity for empathy than adult ones, so, at the risk of sounding like Barbra Streisand, why do we end up acting more like children than children – and so much crueller?

In treacherous times, it doesn’t hurt to be a little sentimental. In fact, it’s a perfectly fine survival mechanism.

Thankfully, I’ve been blessed with many children in my life – my nephews, my godchildren, and their siblings – so I’ve been given a constant reminder of the wondrousness of being human. I’m sure it’s the reason I’m ultimately an optimist.

Winde Cotig [sic – Windy Cottage] opened at the start of the summer holidays two weeks ago and has been open for business every morning since. It serves a wide variety of plastic, wooden and fabric breakfast and lunch items (including a picnic basket option) – usually served in very quick succession – and provides menus, table service and a bill at the end of your repast (where you are taken to the till and handed a fat plastic credit card to swipe).

Run by my five-year-old goddaughter A– and her eight-year-old sister C–, I was lucky enough, last weekend, to be treated to three visits to Winde Cotig during my stay, and was amazed at the efficiency of the operation each time.

I was reminded of this Alain de Botton quote from The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work (something else I’d highly recommend):

Long before we ever earned any money, we were aware of the necessity of keeping busy: we knew the satisfaction of stacking bricks, pouring water into and out of containers and moving sand from one pit to another, untroubled by the greater purpose of our actions.

A– and C– are certainly aware of the necessity of keeping busy, and there they are, each morning in their little wooden Wendy House, organising, planning, preparing, utilising their creativity and inventiveness, their developing numeracy and literacy skills – not to mention their performance skills – all work, in its way, and all self-induced.

And magical.

But if industry is hard-wired into us, it can also be disconnected – through depression, disengagement, dishonesty, disinclination or simple disinterest.

I wonder how many people suffer from boredom at work. Real boredom. I’m sure everyone suffers from some level of boredom at work; all work has its boring aspects.

In the main, I’d think these were fleeting hours of boredom: putting together a nasty report or attending a tedious meeting; a long journey with a dull colleague; a dead afternoon in the shop. Sporadic in frequency. Noticeable because of their infrequency (most people I know feel they barely have time to breathe at work, let alone get bored).

Deep-rooted, existentially-edged boredom at work is something else, mostly depression I would think. But whether the workplace is catalyst or incubator, boredom (probably even more than workplace warfare – where at least one might be engaged with the action if nothing else) is surely one of the worst of our possible cages.

Breaking free can be an epic feat akin to Tim Robbins’s escape in The Shawshank Redemption. It’s hard to chip away at the walls we, or circumstance, put in our way. And there’s a lot of sewage to wade through when job-hunting.

Often that’s why bored people stay where they are, worried they’ll just step out of one type of cage and into another (the old ‘better the devil you know’ philosophy). But that’s a devilishly destructive, not to mention wasteful, way to live.

If you’ve found yourself in the cage of chronic boredom, your best advice is to take time out to go right back to the beginning.

Get a blank page. A big one. Map your journey through education and work. Go as far back as you can remember, even as far as your own version of Winde Cotig, when you played at work, making work feel like play.

Look for patterns. What did you look forward to doing? When did it work, feel right; make you energised, bring out the best in you? Who inspired you, helped you, made you feel confident in your abilities?

How are you wired? What kind of people, activities, ideas or discussions, amplify you? What obsesses you? What are you really good at (honestly really good at – you’ve got to be really honest with yourself, otherwise it just won’t work at all)?

Putting it down on paper in front of you definitely helps. It allows you to step back a little in order to see yourself, and, in seeing the bigger picture, maybe start to see the bigger you.

I’m not a big believer in formulas, but, having observed and interviewed hundreds (possibly thousands), of people at work over two decades, I think the formula for Work Happy goes something like this:

Wiring + Passion + Skill (- Conditioning) = Work Happy

If you’ve found yourself in a rut, taking your conditioning out of the equation might be the healthiest thing of all to do. Go back to who you are and what you’re about (not what anyone told you you are or should be about).

At any age, we can adapt, reinvent, reconfigure our lives (sometimes with a bit of work, sometimes with a hell of a lot).

But that’s another amazing thing about being human. It’s never too late. We can rediscover the joys of Winde Cotig: chuck in the C-Suite, open a café; find our natural habitat.

And, when you find your natural habitat, that’s when you really can play at work – and love what you do.