Even If It Is Broke, Don’t Fix It!
It was in my days as an employed management consultant that I first came across the phrase “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. Not sure why it featured in that world particularly, other than that the consulting world is all about providing advice on how to fix client problems, mend broken processes and improve systems. And I guess the first part of that process is correctly identifying which ‘bit’ needs attention, rather than racing in and meddling with ‘bits’ that are functioning perfectly well. Eminently sensible, you might think.
But what if even when it is broken, you shouldn’t fix it?
Problem-solving is a skill that most businesses require. Let’s be honest; it deserves to be highly prized. And frankly, given the complexity of problem that exists these days, we could all do with honing our skills in this area and powering up our motivation to offer them with even greater impact to the world around us. But maybe there are times when some breaks are made to last and should not be mended.
When I left the consulting firm where I had worked for ten years, to embark on self-employment, I travelled to Vietnam and Cambodia for a few weeks. I didn’t enjoy it that much, to be honest. I didn’t take to the crazy cities of Vietnam, packed full of multi-lane exhaust and a less than friendly welcome from the city dwellers. I wasn’t drawn to the tourist attractions of shooting cows with a bazooka nor roadside ant and spider tasting. I didn’t want to have loads of clothes made in Hanoi and was overwhelmed (and overheated) by Angkor Wat. I came home with the conclusion that either I had chosen the wrong itinerary or that I was just more of an Africa person — with its wildness, extroversion and vast skies — than I was an Asia person. I also came back with a beautiful ring that I bought in Siem Reap. It was a simple silver band that curled round my finger, at one end of which was a simple silver oval and at the other end, the centre piece of the ring, a perfect labradorite stone in which I could see all the ‘bluey-tealy-green’ colours of the sea and sky and all the possibilities of the new chapter opening up ahead of me. I was told that it was a stone of transformation and adventure and this seemed very apt. I loved it and wore it every single day for the subsequent ten years, receiving more compliments for it from perfect strangers than for any other piece of jewellery I had ever worn. It accompanied me through the years of setting up Neon and venturing into the unknown, uncertain territory of being my own boss and always acted as a symbol of beauty and possibility throughout that time.
And then last week, it snapped in two: — clean break right down the centre of the band. Luckily, I was at home when it fell from my finger and I quickly retrieved it from the carpet, feeling a little heartbroken and rather stupidly superstitious about the significance of the ring breaking almost exactly ten years after I had bought it. Was this chapter finished? Was it time for something new again? After the initial upset, I rushed straight to the next most obvious conclusion which was that I would find a silversmith and have it fixed. Surely it could just be soldered back together again! But then a strange thing happened; I found myself pause. Yes, it was true that I could get it fixed. I could probably find a jeweller who would do a good job of patching it up and returning it to something of its original beauty. This was an option. But it wasn’t the only option. It occurred to me that perhaps the ring had run its natural course, that it had been perfect during those years, but that now it was maybe either time to leave it behind, or to turn it into something different, taking the stone perhaps and making it into a pendant? A new iteration for a new chapter? I put the two pieces of the ring above the fireplace and left them there to rest while I pondered my options.
And from here, I got to thinking about all the times that I had known something was broken but didn’t have the heart or the courage to walk away and so stayed on in an effort to ‘fix it’. The most obvious example that struck me was in the area of relationships. I remembered relationships over the years — of different kinds — which I knew had run their course and were no longer serving me, but which I did not feel able to leave. Some of them were professional relationships — with individual clients, with client organisations or with colleagues. Some were personal relationships — both romantic ones and platonic friendships. Some of them were even family relationships.
And I know it’s not just me; I have worked with clients who have overstayed in jobs where they have felt undervalued, mistreated, unfulfilled or worse until finally finding a way to extricate themselves and make an exit. I have also worked with clients who are recovering from personal relationships that they were desperately trying to salvage until they realised they had been trying too hard for too long at too great a personal cost, and in finally accepting its ‘broken-ness’, found the courage to leave. And I have worked with clients who are in the midst of a relationship — personal or professional — that they have outgrown, that they need to leave, but don’t know how.
The reasons are well-rehearsed. We fear the ending process and how messy it might be. We fear how we will fare without that relationship (however broken). We remain attached to the memory of how it was before it broke and choose to believe we can still make it right. We lack the confidence to go it alone. We fear the consequences, from the relationship in question and/or from interested bystanders. We feel a pressure or an expectation from ourselves and/or from others that we should stay and work harder to repair the break. No doubt there are other reasons too.
Perhaps the hardest thing is to gauge when a relationship is sufficiently broken to warrant an exit as opposed to staying to undertake further work to enhance or improve it. When do you know? Where is the cut-off point? When is ‘problematic’ or ‘difficult’ actually broken to the point of no return? When is metaphorically soldering broken pieces together, not the right thing to do?
I don’t know the answer to this. Surely there is no one answer. We each need to find our own way through it, drawing on our values and our individual experience. I feel certain though that sometimes bringing things to an end is the right thing to do, even if it is hard, painful and upsetting.
The second hardest thing is then to navigate the ending process in such a way that you ‘leave well’, expressing gratitude for the nature of the overall experience, taking with you the bits that are yours to work through, and leaving the rest behind. This applies just as much to leaving jobs and organisations as it does to individual relationships.
I think of all this as I look at the two pieces of my ring, knowing that it is just a ring and that I can just get it fixed! I still haven’t decided what I will do with it. It remains on the fireplace awaiting my decision. But I have a sneaky feeling that it may be time for something new to come into being.
