Anger to Action

I have long thrived on the fuel of anger. I am catching it earlier, now, and turning it into action.

I wrote before in my piece about fury that I was often found, if not actually criticising other peoples’ ways of doing the crucial work that was so important, then fixing it in my own unique fashion.

It’s occurred to me that in recent times - say the last five years or so - that my desire to do that has fallen away and been replaced by a hopeless sense of loss. I just look at the world around me, and wonder who is going to take care of everything?

This applies to the world at large, as well as the part that is still under my influence. The world at large, however, really does need to be solved by someone else. The bit in my purview, though? I can take care of that. Eventually.

That sense of hapless inevitability, supported by inaction on my part, has rationalised itself recently in anger. As my therapist would tell you, that anger has mostly turned in on myself and corroded my sense of ability, influence, and - dammit - agency.

This crystallised in a recent outburst - starting at home, where I can pace in my office and yell incoherently - to a long ranty screed I wrote in personal notes, refined over a few days, and culminated in a meeting with my boss to express my frustration. That led to another meeting with another director, where I thankfully took the time to sense check my ranting.

The output of all of that was a sense that ‘yes, things are a bit broken at the moment, but you need to be specific about where, and how they need to be repaired’. Oh yes, that point when the ranting isn’t enough. I need to be able to point at things, explain exactly how they are broken, and then rely on others to fix them.

Or maybe not.

The end point - at least as I write this now, thanks to another internal note that sought to update my original note and reflect on it, is that the solution is entirely within my own hands.

As I used to feel in the past, the solution cannot be put in the hands of others, as they will do it wrong, or simply not do it to my standard because - big reveal here - they don’t have the same motivation or viewpoint that I do.

The most challenging part of writing a bid when you are addressing a relatively new market - or an expansion of an existing one - is the gap analysis.

• where are we now?
• where do we want to be?
• what are the differences?
• how do we fix those differences?

My old historical approach was to go out and fix all those differences at an operational level. In hindsight, while they succeeded more often than they failed, they were also dependent on my very particular leaning toward clearly defined operational processes and step by step instructions.

Because I wake up every morning dumber than I was the night before - ADHD memory is a total shocker, believe me - I have to have really clear instructions to follow. Over time, I’ve built my life around that. If something is unclear, I really struggle, or automatically build a mental framework to conceptualise it. That’s just the way I’m wired.

In bids, the position is slightly different. The ideal bid is backed by evidence, process, practical detail on how we approach a clients’ requirements. If we’re exploring new markets and aren’t quite there yet - and haven’t done all the due diligence because we aren’t complete naval gazers and prefer action over inaction - then the ideal bid crosses the gaps between where we are and where the client wants us to be.

Sometimes, the gaps are crossed with evidence and clarity.

Sometimes, the gaps are crossed with imagination and constructions that will hold up in a bid, but aren’t quite baked into operations yet.

It took me a while to realise that this is the way. As much as I would like a company to be completely ready to address all the needs of clients in a new market before I take one step in that direction, that’s neither practical or cost effective.

Far better to dip a toe in the water, see what bites, and then create the right footwear to protect you. Or some other tangled analogy, probably more akin to jumping off the cliff and building the plane on the way down - except the fall takes way longer than you realise and the crash is a long way away.

So, after writing my notes and re-reading them, I’ve found the old joy in turning anger into productive action. I’m doing all the work. I’m not asking for permission. I’m prepared to ask for forgiveness if that is needed, but this is my domain, my expertise, and everything else can be learned on the way.

This was project Papercuts - as that was the theme of my original internal note, but even as I write this, I know what I can call this internal, skunkworks project: Airplane. I’m building this on the way down. This could be intensely stressful, or it could be really fun.

Let’s see how it goes. Through this blog, you’re along for the ride.