Each one of us has a story. That story is framed by our earliest dreams and current-day status, its plotline moved forward by our individual sense of purpose. In other words, our “why.” Why are you striving, why do you want to succeed? Whether the answer is financial security, to take care of your family, change perceptions, reduce your carbon imprint, drive change, make a difference for others, have a powerful voice, or change the world, we all need a reason to get up every day and do the work. That sense of purpose is the driver of our narrative; it pulls us up out of bed and into the fray, sustains us when things get hairy, and inspires us to forge ahead.
Losing the plot is deeply entwined with pressure as both a cause and a cautionary tale. When you lose your sense of purpose and meaning, joy goes along with it, and you quickly land in bewildering Why am I doing this again? territory. Without our why, everything is harder. The pressure gets compounded into misery, which leaves us more vulnerable to the further corruption of pressure. What felt challenging before now feels impossible. Disappointments become disasters; what irritated you now triggers an all-out hissy fit.
But not every lost narrative means you need to quit or radically change your career path. Sometimes, yes, but other times all that’s required is a redistribution of your energy and focus.
When I reached a certain level of seniority at Microsoft, I became eligible for an eight-week sabbatical. I took it mainly because it was something I’d never done, and I’m drawn to things that scare me. I figured I’d never in my life taken a pause from the relentless push of hard work; let me find out what that would be like. I also figured it would do me some good. I was still young, in my thirties, so it wasn’t showing on my face, but I was consistently tired. I didn’t realize how drained I was until on my first day of doing nothing a wave of exhaustion hit me with such force as I was driving home from errands that I had to pull over onto a side street and take a nap. True story. I slept for about forty-five minutes in my car. When I awoke, my first thought was Something is very wrong. It was ten in the morning.
I went to my doctor, who ran a battery of tests. Turns out I was fine. Physically, that is. For the next few days, I slept upward of eleven hours a night, plus took two or three naps throughout the day. I wasn’t depressed—that I knew. I was just exhausted. Adrenaline had been coursing through me so consistently for so many years, my mind was giving my body permission to crash now that I had the time for it.
My whole life, I’d been gunning to get to the top, and I was on track to fulfill that goal. It was not a question of if I’d be made a corporate vice president at one of the world’s leading tech companies, but when. I’d cracked the code. I knew the formula, I knew the steps needed, and I knew I could get there. But I didn’t want it. The challenge was gone. Why would I spend the next five years of my life relentlessly chasing something that I didn’t want?
It was disorienting. To get to the top of the top had been my personal career ambition for as long as I could remember. Then there was the cultural aspect. I mean, what kind of brown woman who stands to join the elite corporate ranks in America says, “Nah, no thanks”?
At a loss, I called a friend, Laura, and said, “I have no idea what to do next.” I considered just cashing out my stock options and leaving, but that thought lasted about half a minute. Laura said, “You seem to like this stuff you’re doing with your client. I’m sure Microsoft has a department that does this kind of ‘people stuff.’ What about that?” There was, indeed, a people development group at my company, but did I really have any business doing that? Just to test the waters, I reached out to the woman who ran that department. Barbara had recently seen me speak at a conference, so I figured it was worth an exploratory discussion. To my shock she said, “I’ll hire you right now.”
When I left, I was a group program manager a few years away from becoming a corporate vice president (no brown woman had ever reached that level at Microsoft). When I returned from the sabbatical, I officially moved to HR.
My old rush of energy and passion had returned; I had a “why” again. I was buzzing because I was learning new things every day. Before, the products I’d worked on were used by billions, and I got a charge out of seeing people use them on planes and cafés, but I never felt a personal connection. During coaching sessions and workshops, however, I saw the lightbulbs go on in people’s eyes as they connected the aha moment with an action they could take. My work was meaningful because I could see the impact right away. I would wake up in the morning excited with ideas, looking forward to whatever work I was doing that day. I finally understood what people meant when they said they were thrilled to be able to do something they would have done for free. As someone who doesn’t drink alcohol or do drugs, this was a real high.
Losing the plot of your life and passion can be surprisingly easy. Everyone wants something from you at every moment, so in that mode, who has time to think about what we want to do versus what we have to do?
I use the Joyline tool outlined below with clients to help them escape this peril of feeling drained and miserable and instead spend their days feeling energized and fulfilled.
The Joyline: Rediscover Your Passion and Purpose
At its heart, the Joyline tool is about identifying your sense of purpose and meaning. When we make those internal drivers our North Star, rather than outward goals or to-do lists, we not only feel lighter and happier but have a much greater and more lasting impact.
This is the tool to pull out when:
- You are lacking motivation or finding it hard to concentrate
- You are not getting the same level of gratification from your work as you once did
- You know something is off but are not quite sure what it is
- You are wondering any variation of Is this all there is?
Put It into Practice
Step One: Create a list of ten to twenty critical moments in your lifetime up through today.
Step Two: Draw a simple vertical line. Then plot your critical points along the line in chronological order, with the high points going on the right of the line and the low points on the left of it.
Step Three: Identify the recurring themes in your plotted Joyline that form an overarching narrative.
The question is, of course, what to do with this information. You can, if you choose, stop here. Often just seeing one’s own themes in a clear light is enough of an aha moment to motivate people to take steps toward realigning with what fulfills them and letting go of what drains them. They see what provides meaning and what takes them off course, what is relevant and what’s superfluous. Your Joyline can serve as a conceptual understanding of your purpose and a wake-up call when you’ve veered off course.
Or you can continue on. It would be great if what you generated enabled you to simply navigate life and work according to your Joyline, incorporating joyful elements and avoiding harmful ones. But as we know, we can’t always do what’s fun and fulfilling and escape what we dislike. We can, however, identify where our efforts have maximum impact, to determine where to invest our energies and where we need to shore up support.
