What’s on my mind – assorted articles
You’re shit, and you know you are.
4 June 2024
(Take it as a win – it means you’re improving.)
Ah yes, the classic football ground chorus. We all know the words, although let’s face it, they’re not a challenge to learn. I’ve heard them directed at the ref, at the opposing team and their fans. I’ve heard it directed at the ground staff. Those seven words are rarely an indication of encouragement, but that context is there if you look for it.
The chant was in my mind at the weekend, having shared my previous piece about relearning long-held skills. In particular, I was measuring my swimming proficiency against the concept of conscious competence. This model was first introduced to me many years ago, by my great friend and mentor, the management trainer and author, Bob Lee. In simple terms, it describes how one moves from incompetence to competence, but its quiet magic is how it describes our awareness when on that journey.
Originally labelled, The Hierarchy of Competence, the four stages as we know them were first mentioned in a 1960 textbook ‘Management of Training Programmes’ by three NYU professors. Over the years, similar versions have appeared across a number of publications and platforms, adapted by management trainers, authors, coaches and academics, and it’s frequently – though incorrectly – attributed to Abraham Maslow. Whether it’s shown as a pyramid, a ladder or a matrix, the concept breaks down into four key stages:
Unconscious incompetence - when you’re not even aware that you don’t have a particular competence. To move on to the next stage, you must acknowledge your incompetence, and – ideally – the value of the new skill.
Conscious incompetence - when you don’t understand or know how to do something, but you recognise the deficit. The transition to this state can be a shocking and sudden realisation, as it comes with the need to accept that work is needed before improvement will be seen.
Conscious competence - when you can achieve a task, but you’re conscious about everything you need to do. Think about driving home after passing your test. It can be a dangerous time, because competence is rarely absolute; it’s almost always a process.
Unconscious competence - when you finally master a skill or activity, and you don’t even have to think about what you’re doing. The skill has entered the unconscious part of your brain, so can be performed while executing another task, maybe knitting while reading a book.
We can all apply this model to tasks we frequently undertake. If we’ve been riding a bike or driving a car for a number of years, the chance is we’re unconsciously competent at that. It’s maybe not so easy at work, when our days are filled with thousands of big and small tasks, many of which are interlinked or made up of other tasks. But distil them down to their core needs, and it probably applies. And, knowing where we are, we can take steps to move to the next stage.
So, if any football refs are reading this – your ears ringing with the accusation that you’re consciously incompetent – keep going. Soon they’ll be telling you you’re not shit, and you know you’re not. Maybe one day you won’t even realise.
Clean Your Tools
17 April 2024
Hanging on the wall in my dining room is a spirit level. It’s forty-eight inches long and seventy years old. Over that time, the mahogany has silvered and the brass fittings have lost their shine, but the manufacturer’s stamp – Parry & Bott, Birmingham – is still clear. The level was my dad’s, and he’d take it to work every day. He was a bricklayer, and a bloody good one; he thought like an architect, calculated like a surveyor, and created like an artist. I’d like to think some of that good stuff found its way to me, but his most valuable lesson – the one I’m reminded of each day – is the importance of cleaning your tools.
Dad’s example was always his trowel. If he didn’t clean it properly, he’d tell me, the build-up of mortar would become impossibly hard. Removing it would eventually run the risk of damage, but ignoring it meant the build-up would become part of the trowel. It would affect how the mortar was scooped from the hawk; it would affect – albeit subtly – how the trowel was held; how mortar flowed onto the bricks; how the bricks adhered. Ultimately, it would affect the integrity of the wall. And my dad built some big walls.
I don’t use a trowel or hawk or float or level, but I do spend each day laying down thoughts and words – in content and thought leadership pieces for clients, in proposals and reports, in emails and WhatsApps and in my own fiction writing. Like many of us, my primary tool is a laptop, which, naturally, gets a regular clean. And like even more of us, my toolbag also contains analysis, planning, research, creativity, perseverance. On days when the words don’t flow, when it seems more like manual labour, I’m left with a clear feeling that my tools have picked up the residue of my efforts. All I want is to clean them like Dad’s trowel, to mark the end of the working day and ensure they’re sparkling and ready for tomorrow. That’s impossible, obviously, so the most effective way for me to achieve this is through cooking (which of course comes with its own tool-cleaning demands), and time with my family (a TV show might be involved). Others might use sport or meditation or reading or gaming or a punchy Malbec. It doesn’t matter how we clean our tools, as long as we do it thoroughly, and we take a moment to appreciate that we’re doing it. It’s essential for our mental health, it will feel better when we wield them tomorrow; and it’s likely to improve our output.
The lesson’s become part of my DNA, so I don’t need that spirit level to remind me. But every now and again, I’ll take it down and check it’s still properly calibrated. Thanks to Dad’s care, it always is, and somehow, that keeps me level too.
Clear, Consistent and Correct
5 March 2024
In a WhatsApp chat this week, I described a novel to friends as coruscating. The description – I thought – was perfect. In Memoriam is startling in its brilliance; it’s scintillating, dazzling, kaleidoscopic. But one of my friends misunderstood – he thought I found the story to be scathing. In many ways it is, not least when describing the atrocities of the First World War. But that wasn’t what I meant. Despite its Latin roots (coruscāre: to flash or vibrate), the misuse of coruscate to mean scathing has become so prevalent it’s now accepted as an official meaning, even appearing in some dictionaries as a secondary definition.
It happens, of course, language is a living thing that’s subject to change. And change is important, but so is accuracy. This was highlighted yesterday while I was researching an article, and came across the sentence: “...which is again expected given the positive temperature response to increased CO2 emissions”. It was the use of the word ‘positive’ that gave me pause. When something is positive, we automatically assume it’s good, yet in this case, a positive response in temperature describes an increase. Definitely not good. If such a simple term can obfuscate the truth, then how can we have meaningful conversations about our climate?
Back in 2019, the newspaper The Guardian tackled this challenge, proposing terms that would clearly communicate the environmental crises facing the world, while remaining scientifically precise. In place of ‘biodiversity’, the paper recommended the more evocative ‘wildlife’. It eschewed ‘climate change’ in favour of ‘climate emergency, crisis or breakdown’. And success was achieved; within two years there was a 40% increase in people using the term ‘climate crisis’ compared with previous years.
This tightening of word use is positive, of course, but we’ll remain at danger of miscommunication until we can fully agree on the language we use, and the messages we share. This is evident nowhere more than the encouragement – by government and industry – to believe that it’s too late for us to act; that global climate catastrophe is inevitable. A June 2019 article by the World Economic Forum observed that, “... the argument that ‘it’s too late’ had become the dominant climate myth among climate sceptics over the past ten years, and said it was holding back climate action”. Of course, our opportunity to make meaningful change is reducing, but an acceptance of defeat runs the risk of hindering further action and leading to paralysis by pessimism.
If we’re to effectively navigate climate discussions, the language we use must be clear, consistent and correct. Whether we wish to say that something is sparkling or scathing, language defines the stories we tell; it’s how we educate and engage; it has the power to build public and political belief. When compared with the urgency and magnitude of climate change, word choice might seem unimportant, but it’s frequently the only tool available to us, so it’s essential that we use it as accurately as we’re able.