Rediscovering the things that really matter: twelve lessons from the last twelve months.
Like much of my working life, the last twelve months have been an adventure.
I guess I thrive on that sense of adventure. Revelling in the diversity of it all. There have been projects for huge organisations like the BBC alongside assignments for small businesses. There have been talks, workshops, coaching sessions. My work life has taken me beyond London to west Wales, Southampton, Birmingham, Amsterdam and New York. 2016 has also been a great year for getting out of the office: there have been meetings on David Hieatt’s farm in Wales, by the swimming pool on the top floor of Shoreditch House, on a boat heading for Canary Wharf, and walking along the canal to Little Venice.
And there have been some good reminders along the way about the things that really matter:
- Sometimes the best gigs come from random conversations in the rain. One of my new clients came about because the co-founder met me at the Do Lectures back in 2012. He emailed me four years later to say he had enjoyed talking to me in the rain at Do and thought I might be a good fit for his project.
- You don’t need a team of people in order to be a leader. I tend to get hired for my wisdom and experience. This year I’ve learned that you don’t need a team of people to display acts of leadership. It’s about being confident in your skills, beliefs and opinions, and stepping up to the plate.
- Play where you play best, do things your way. This year I’ve been ramping up my coaching business, taking executives, creatives and freelancers on walk and talks around London. I’ve designed it my own way, taking people on journeys around some of my favourite streets, asking good questions and being a good listener. It works.
- Don’t save the best bottle of wine for a special occasion. This year I have really tried to live ‘in the moment’ and make the most of life. We’d been thinking about a family holiday to NYC for a couple of years, but wondering when was a good time to go. Then on a whim, we decided to just do it now. It turned out to be one of our best family holidays ever. Don’t save the best for ifs and whens. Life’s too short, enjoy it now.
- If you show your vulnerability, you’ll be rewarded. Earlier this year my 2015 Do Lecture was posted online. It’s an intense watch — I’m really honest, it’s quite emotional, I choke up at times. So it’s kind of scary once the talk is online, knowing that everyone can see it. But you know what? I’ve had so much lovely feedback. I’m glad I bared my soul to the world, it’s good to know it made a difference to some people out there.
- If the sun is shining, get outside. I live five minutes from the beach. This summer, if the tide was right and the sun was shining, I’d go for a swim. Some days it was a two minute dip before catching the train to London, other days a thirty minute swim with my wife. At times — like late September — the estuary waters felt freezing. But once you get in, you never regret it.
- You’ve got to put the effort in for the good stuff to happen. It’s a coincidence that two projects I worked on this year were both on the other side of the country, just a few miles apart. In February I took the seven hour train-tube-train-train-car journey from Leigh-on-Sea to Cardigan to kick off my work on the Do Lectures’ Stress Report. In April I was back down the road in the beautiful surroundings of Fforest to give the opening keynote to a barn full of photographers at the Snap Photography Festival. It’s not easy getting to west Wales, but it’s definitely worth the effort.
- Shiny tools aren’t necessarily the best ones. In September I dusted down my 34 year old Pentax K1000 camera and shot some street photography in Amsterdam. I loved the constraints: working with 35mm film, manual settings, simple controls, with no way of previewing or reviewing your image. My pictures turned out okay (I just had to remember to wind on after each exposure).
- Don’t chuck away your old photos and scrapbooks. A couple of months ago I found a scrapbook of my 1986 Inter-railing holiday. It was wonderful to rewind thirty years and realise what the teenage Ian has in common with me today. It helped me understand who I am and what makes me tick, and has given me fuel for my own journey.
- Take a break from the office. Stress and mental health at work has been a hot topic this year. One thing I see a lot in the workplace is the erosion of the lunch break. Sure, I know everyone is busy. I know a sixty minute break is unrealistic, I know lunch is often grabbed on the run. But please, try and get out of the office. Your mind needs a break. No more Pret lunches at your desk. Those crumbs play havoc with your keyboard. And you never know what you might discover in your lunch break (in January, I discovered this lot playing at my local record shop).
- Our surroundings matter. The places and spaces we work from matter so much. I’ve seen some great spaces this year: from London’s Second Home to Brooklyn’s Friends Work Here, it’s great to see entrepreneurs investing in spaces that fuel good work. For me, it’s about working from a bunch of different spaces, including a selection of decent coffee shops (here’s my list of recommended London coffee shops).
- Know what fuels you. This year I’ve been much better at thinking carefully about where I put my attention and not getting sucked into projects and relationships that aren’t me, or don’t take me towards my goals. Being happy in my work has been about tuning into a working life that reflects who I am. What are the ingredients that united my best work this year? Walk and talks, fresh air, cities, good coffee, and blank space in my schedule. Know what fuels you and keep those fuel tanks topped up.
I’d like to say a big thank you to everyone who’s supported me this year. Whether you read a post like this, hired me, said hello, followed me on Twitter or helped me out, cheers.
I fire up people, organisations and businesses about their work, helping them develop and grow. Take a look at iansanders.com, get in touch hello@iansanders.com.