Professional Border Collie

When I came into work the other day, one of the senior managers of the company I work for started the day by saying, “Now, what was I going to do today?” My quick tongue couldn't suppress the reply: “I'm guessing work?”

To which his answer was: “Well, no, I don't really ‘work’. I rarely produce anything.”

I assumed he'd go on to say something philosophical about how, when you follow your passion, your day never really feels like work. Instead, he surprised me.

“I’m a professional Border Collie.
My job is to shepherd different people and entities in one direction, make sure they don't leave the general herd, and get them to talk to each other.”

Lately, I've struggled with exactly this feeling. I feel like I don't “do anything” except talk to people, improve lists, structure things, and try to get everyone moving in the same direction. None of it feels particularly tangible. And on some days, I feel like a fraud, as if I've somehow lost all the skills I once had or ever acquired.

And here I was, talking to a professional Border Collie. Maybe I have a calling to be a Border Collie?

Many job titles or jobs are difficult to explain to people who don't work in the same company or industry. My father likes to point out that if you cannot explain your function to a child, then you've either not understood your role, it isn't defined, or it is of no added value. True or false? I tend to agree.

Being able to explain your job isn't necessarily proof that your job has value. But struggling to explain it can be a useful signal that you haven't figured out what your contribution actually is.

When I took the job at my current company, I applied for a straightforward job as “Supply Manager”. What they then offered me was “Data Manager”. What exactly did they want me to do?

They knew they needed someone to help structure the master data and bring some order to a number of things, but they hadn't really figured out what that person was supposed to do. So I insisted on a trial day — which made them sweat, but I'm glad I insisted. They really hadn't fully figured out what to do with me, which meant I got to choose how I shaped my own position.

When a family lunch rolled around, however, I couldn't explain to my father what I did for a living. But I knew I had to figure it out, not for the sake of explaining it to someone else, but for my own satisfaction.

When I first met “the Border Collie”, I thought he'd make an excellent politician: charismatic, a booming voice, a certain presence. He's excellent at connecting people.

But if nobody is actually determining where the herd should go, what's the point of having a great Border Collie?

I think it's fair to say we all appreciate a sense of direction and feedback on whether we're on the right path or where we need to veer. If we're lacking this, we sense dissatisfaction and frustration.

What I've realized is that it gets even harder when, as a manager, I don't know exactly where we're going either. How am I supposed to motivate a team and give them a sense of direction and security when I'm not being given enough direction myself?

That's me, currently.

In my current situation, I feel like I'm both the shepherd and the Border Collie. I'm trying to figure out where we should go while simultaneously getting everyone else moving in that direction. And with the number of people in our organization, that's a lot for one person.

Unfortunately, we have many people who pick and choose what they want to do instead of feeling responsible for the tasks their job description comes with — including the hard stuff.

My favorite analogy here is a pony farm. You can't just pet the ponies all day. Someone also has to clean the stalls.

Thinking in analogies and trying to explain complex topics to others as if I were explaining them to a child has helped me with both communication and self-reflection.

Can I explain what I do to my father? Yes, I can.

Has it helped with my frustration? Somewhat.

Maybe the problem isn't that I'm a Border Collie. Maybe I'm actually quite good at being one. The problem is that sometimes I also have to be the shepherd — figuring out where we're going, getting everyone moving in the same direction, and making sure nobody wanders off.

And with the size of our herd, that's a lot of work for one Border Collie.

What I need is a shepherd.

Bah, bah,
xoxo F