It's Not Fair: A Calling for Change

Life and work transitions ad overcoming self-doubt

In my season of hibernation, I've been doing a lot of reflecting. These are the questions I mulled that are worthwhile for you too: (thanks to

Russell Nohelty

and his Hapitalist work at the Author Stack).

1. What transition are you facing right now? A new job? A new career? A new calling? A changing relationship? Are you growing together or growing apart? Moving to a new place? Grief or loss? Health challenges? [I've had all of these lately.]

2. What are some rewarding moments where you have felt on top of the world? What were the conditions/experiences happening then?

3. What are energising activities that give you energy and light you up?

4. What is a new definition of success, based on the answers to the previous questions? For me, this came out as: Every day I have the freedom to create, explore, and connect deeply with others.

What follows is a deeper reflection on change and a new calling.

The dawn light on this mountain makes me weep with hope: every morning a chance for change that matters

The Calling for Change

August whispers in our ear: change is coming.

You may also be poised for a shift: a change of job, a change of career, a change of calling.

A new season in your life.

Seasons stir hearts, awaken minds.

For Northern hemisphere inhabitants, we savour the lush heights of summer with warm days and a cool evening's kiss. In Australia, winter breathes with a wash of warmth, wattle winks open in bursts of yellow.

It's time for goodbyes and hellos.

Transitions are unnerving. Doubts take flight like dandelion seeds on an autumn wind.

The change I'm experiencing is monumental but creeps in with a petty pace. I'm upending my life and professional practice, leaving me a little untethered, unused as I am to so much freedom and space in my world.

But I am nudging forward.

Come with me?

Through this flux, I question: How can I be most useful to you?

Here is what I am hearing from leaders:

There is a slowness, a stuckness, a hunkering down that is keeping people, businesses from movement, from momentum.

There is no progress, just the status quo.

My colleagues are busy launching new things: podcasts, workshops, books in an effort to be of service. To kickstart something. Anything.

I am choosing a slower cultivation. I'm deep in the earth, digging, rooting around, seeing what's there, before putting down new roots.

My entire professional life has been about learning and sharing

with you what works. From failures—and successes—as a team leader, to living through cancer, to big picture strategic thinking (going deep, far, and wide), to messy people stuff, to power misuse and abuse.

As a child, my earliest thoughts about purpose rose to answer this question:

"It's not fair. How do we create a better world for all?"

In high school, I ran the local Amnesty International chapter and wrote campaign letters about human rights abuses. I expressed frustration and outrage at the stupidity of sexism and racism.

It's not fair.

At university, I fed on the bitterness of inequity: how wealth created opportunity and privilege for some while talented folks lagged behind, just trying to make ends meet. I worked my way through university as a waitress, paying all my own bills. Apart from the exhilarating beer-filled escapades of new-found adulting, it was a relentless slog. I worked most nights until 1am. I read and did assignments on the bus to and from uni, and spent days off in the library trying to catch up. I envied my schoolmates who were supported by wealthy parents and were free to enjoy the full university experience without trying to scrape rent money together from tips and a $5 an hour wage.

It's not fair.

My solution was to find solace in wilderness adventures: pare life back to the core essentials of shared survival in stunning places. This was real life, real living.

But it did not help resolve the big issues: inequity, systemic imbalances in organisations, communities, nations.

It's not fair.
I have thrown myself into leadership development work these last thirty-odd years, striving to build more awareness, insight, and skill for morally ambitious folks.

And yet we still see tyrants: leaders who want to crush opposition with bombs and bombast. My heart breaks with helplessness.

It's not fair.

But giving up is a not a solution.

If you're reading this, I know this about you: you care. You care about others, you want a meaningful life, purposeful work, an opportunity to make things better.

You might also be racked with self-doubt from time to time. All the best leaders are: it's how we stay humble, keep asking questions, lean into learning, seek improvements, embrace feedback.

Likely you also long for connection. To have conversations that provoke, uplift, reveal, amuse and entertain.

I long for that too.

In my reflection, I have discovered that the themes of my work include:

Success, achievement, office politics, belonging, power, justice, fairness, starting over, and overcoming self-doubt.

The self-doubt bit is a real bitch. I have colleagues who are brilliant and doing amazing things. I realise that I have always had the sense that "I am not quite there yet, not good enough yet, still a work in progress." As such, I experience the acrid taste of having not yet arrived, an outsider, a pretender. Self-doubt sucks.

My books, non-fiction and fiction, walk through the blazing fire of self-doubt, seeking wisdom to hose the flames.

My work is also saturated in the quest to answer this question:

"It's not fair.

How do we create a better world for all?"

What this looks like from now is still a wee bit cloudy for me. The move to Newcastle later this year is an all-consuming project. I have been trawling through my belongings, taking things to charity. I've left pieces of my life, of myself, for others to pick up. I nearly cried today over a zebra make-up case that I never used, a backpack I have not touched in twenty years.

These endings herald a new era. I'm apprehensive. At times, scared. I'm worried I'll be lonely. Bored. Not useful.

Some things are taking shape: these bulbs were stored through the winter and are pushing up shoots. I am crafting a life where I have the freedom to:

CREATE. EXPLORE. CONNECT.

The vehicles for this life and work include:

Books: I love reading. I love writing books. There will be more of all of this in service to your experience of change and transition in pursuit of a more hopeful world.

Workshops: I love connecting and sharing. I intend to create moving, profound experiences where you can connect with others while allowing your own life to bloom.

Facilitation: I am great at guiding big thinkers with big hearts who want to make a big difference. With teams I work with, I weave between the polarity of CULTURE and STRATEGY.

Community: Since I closed Amplifiers at the end of 2024, I have not had a gathering place/experience for leaders and I am desperately missing this connection. Something will emerge here for us: something easy, accessible, warm and welcoming.

Podcast: I'll likely do something in audio/video as I love how this connects deeply with people. There's something about hearing a voice that brings us closer, even if we never meet. I am not sure of focus or format. I'm letting the muse work on that.

What's NOT coming forward with us:

A barrage of content. For too long, I did what the experts say to do: more is better.

It's not.

Better is better.

My promise to you is that I will craft my messages, content, books, podcasts so that is meaningful and useful for you. I will take care with it, crafting with love.

So I'll be here, semi-regularly, with morsels to challenge, uplift, and inspire. The next few months are turbulent: skiing, travel for work, an Author's conference in Las Vegas, selling our house, moving to Newcastle. That will take us all the way to 2026.

I do have something emerging for you: a workshop on power in September? October? More details on that to come.

In the meantime, thanks for reading and sharing the path in crafting a better world for all of us.