Tell me to write down “what I want” one more time. No seriously, I dare you…

24andlearning
Jul 30, 2017 · 4 min read

July 29th, 2017

When I was 18, list-making eurphoria beat out a Harlequin novel (yes, novel, shut up) any day of the week. At 29, list-making is literally a necessary condition for functioning. Guys, the OCD-light beast must be fed.

But there’s something particularly eye-rolling about someone asking you to “write out what you want.” I imagine the gesture becomes even more exaggerated the older you get. We take natural insult to someone suggesting that we don’t know ourselves. Or that our sense of self is burried deep in our psyche, and if only we put pen to paper would we be able to prune the scraggliness from our Movemeber-like committment.

I recently received some well-suited (albeit begrudgingly accepted) advice. I have been ruminating on how to deal with the awkward byproduct of career advancement. You know the one I mean. Where you get into the rooms, conversations, or levels that you didn’t have access too before. You get to see under the hood of so many different places of employ, and you have a better understanding of the nuance of leadership. But the more you see under the hood the more you wrinkle your nose at the pieces. “I do not need Nitro.” “Get that muffler OFF of my car.”

How do we opt-in, instead?

As a serial job hopper, I’ve always thought of myself as very intune with what I want. I abhor stangnancy. The harder the job, the more there is to learn, the more connected I am. This doesn’t mean I enjoy difficult work environments (in fact, I tend to rail against them — they are unecessary and toxic). Difficult and important tasks motivate me. When the curve flattens, I move on. I know myself.

Incorrect. I know pieces.

I know a version of myself. I know the self that is 22, starting her career and entirely uninformed about the realities of a good employee vs. an effective one, a reliable team member vs. a strategic one, and a micromanaging-adled leader vs. an inspiring one. Over time, my understanding of these roles has surely sophisticated. I have become increasingly good at self-examination at the end of each job to determine what I don’t want. Which version I’m not interested in becoming. It’s automatic. Perfunctory. Second nature. It’s becoming increasingly useless.

Eliminating the list of negative characteristics instead of articulating the mandatory ones are about as similar as Hermione pre-Sleekeazy and post-Sleekeazy (ooooh, deep cut). Mapping out your values, the functions you like to preform, the amount of time you want to be left to your own devices or guided along the way, are all a necessary exercise in checking-in. The list of things I don’t want over the years has actually stayed pretty much the same. A few additions here or there. The list of things I want to operationalize for, is shockingly, different. And for the better.

I want to be clear. If I Marty McFly’d back to 22 and was asked if I’d use my beloved elimination tactic again, I would. I needed it for job 1–3. There’s just so much I didn’t know about work or myself. Eliminating things was a great litmus test for what influences I didn’t want in my life. Things like “huh, huge organizations don’t do it for me.” Or, “planning instead of doing makes me feel like I’m missing something.” I’m talking instead about tranisitoning. In this new chapter of work and life — transitioning from 20 to 30 — I’m trying my hand at designing for what I want. Not just steering clear of what I don’t.

I didn’t have a brilliant a-hah moment once the list was complete. There were many surprises but nothing life-altering. I do know myself. But this excercise required an articulation of all the various fragments of that self. Bringing them together brought clarity around exactly how I think they work together. And MOST importantly, a tough conversation around compromise. Either in my current job or jobs forthcoming, the liklihood of having them all is slim. That’s okay. What’s non-neogitable?

In case you would like to replicate this exercise, here were my steps:

  1. Choose a set of values statements — a pledge of sorts. Identify 5–7 statements that feel particularly authentic around what you believe in
  2. Does your story fit? Do the things that you need to do to honor your pledge work with where you are, or where you plan to be?
  3. Go deep. What are the functions you most enjoy in your current role? Where are the areas of growth? Can you be good at what you’re good at, and be better at what you’re bad at in your current role?
  4. Map out option A, B, and C. If every value of your pledge was met, what do you lose? What does the organization lose? What happens if you get half? What happens if you get none? (This was my favorite part. I love the scenario planning, I went so far as to assess how much more $$ the org would have to contribute to my vision, or how the team would change, etc.)
  5. Immediately eat a popcicle. Do NOT skip this step.

You may not need any of this. Or it may seem so painfully basic to you already. Reading it back, it feels painfully basic. But maybe basic’s alright.

After all, Expelliarmus beat Avada Kedavra when it mattered most.

Written by

A journey of trials and tribulations that are inherent in figuring out your life in your 20s. Sarcasm always welcome. No longer quite so young.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade