I have never been a natural "turner", as we say in the dance community. One of several important aspects of turning successfully is to spot, a technique in which the dancer rotates the body first and the head last. This allows the dancer to anchor him or herself to a direction, and prevents dizziness. It's taken me considerable work to gain proficiency; in the process I've fallen out of turns, succumbed to severe bouts of nausea, the works.
But now, even as I am acutely aware of my shortcomings, I've discovered that I can execute multiple pirouettes (turns) with a much higher success rate than before. Focusing on the basics is paying off; I see the results, I feel the results, and a feeling surges within me - I'm making progress!
How does 'making progress' happen in the office? The definition of progress can vary greatly depending on one's job function, obviously, but as a program manager in my current organization, I find I don't always know what this means.
When working on dance, on the base level of technique it's apparent when things aren't going well. It feels terrible, both physically and mentally, because there's no fooling yourself if you're executing technique incorrectly. Physics doesn't lie. (This is not to say that there aren't subtle ways to cheat; that's another topic entirely - for the purposes of our current theme, let's assume that the dancer is conscious of clean technique.)
This in turn applies to making music. It's not working if the sound that comes out doesn't align with what's on the page, or if the notes don't connect or the phrasing is broken due to poor fingering choices on the piano. You can hear it, and you can feel it.
As in the office and in the arts, we are similarly driven by priorities and business needs - the choreographer wants to work on a Tibetan dance, and it's my job to study and learn how to internalize the traditional movements and culture of Tibet; the director of my organization at the office wants to launch X within 1 week, and my work as a program manager is cut out for me.
I suppose I could say that I'm making progress and seeing results when I'm nearing completion of my portion to make the launch of X possible. But somehow, it doesn't feel like I'm gaining expertise - I've developed a strategy and labored away, but that's just it. I'm making progress for the organization, but am I making progress for me?
That's the difference; when I work on executing a decent pirouette, learn how to shrug my shoulders with just the right insouciance for an Uighur ethnic dance, or finally master the intoxicatingly furious ending of Ravel's Valses Nobles et Sentimentales No. 1 on the piano, I know what I am internalizing. I know when I am making progress, just as I know when I am not. The results, or lack thereof, are clear.
This realization is startling, because this clarity contrasts deeply with my other life: I haven't figured out what it means to me to make progress at work. Perhaps it's because I'm not operating at my forte, that I'm not in an environment or job function in which my path and growth flow innately and operate in harmony with the priorities and needs of the organization.
That leads to the greatest question: am I in the right place at all? In my heart, I want to believe I'll instinctively know what it means to make progress when I've found work that truly means something to me. I won't give up; I'll keep asking myself tough questions as I explore and find my way.
While I forge my path there, my labor at the dance studio and at the keys of my beautiful Steinway grand piano will remind me of the way it feels to find my way forward, naturally.
But now, even as I am acutely aware of my shortcomings, I've discovered that I can execute multiple pirouettes (turns) with a much higher success rate than before. Focusing on the basics is paying off; I see the results, I feel the results, and a feeling surges within me - I'm making progress!
How does 'making progress' happen in the office? The definition of progress can vary greatly depending on one's job function, obviously, but as a program manager in my current organization, I find I don't always know what this means.
When working on dance, on the base level of technique it's apparent when things aren't going well. It feels terrible, both physically and mentally, because there's no fooling yourself if you're executing technique incorrectly. Physics doesn't lie. (This is not to say that there aren't subtle ways to cheat; that's another topic entirely - for the purposes of our current theme, let's assume that the dancer is conscious of clean technique.)
This in turn applies to making music. It's not working if the sound that comes out doesn't align with what's on the page, or if the notes don't connect or the phrasing is broken due to poor fingering choices on the piano. You can hear it, and you can feel it.
As in the office and in the arts, we are similarly driven by priorities and business needs - the choreographer wants to work on a Tibetan dance, and it's my job to study and learn how to internalize the traditional movements and culture of Tibet; the director of my organization at the office wants to launch X within 1 week, and my work as a program manager is cut out for me.
I suppose I could say that I'm making progress and seeing results when I'm nearing completion of my portion to make the launch of X possible. But somehow, it doesn't feel like I'm gaining expertise - I've developed a strategy and labored away, but that's just it. I'm making progress for the organization, but am I making progress for me?
That's the difference; when I work on executing a decent pirouette, learn how to shrug my shoulders with just the right insouciance for an Uighur ethnic dance, or finally master the intoxicatingly furious ending of Ravel's Valses Nobles et Sentimentales No. 1 on the piano, I know what I am internalizing. I know when I am making progress, just as I know when I am not. The results, or lack thereof, are clear.
This realization is startling, because this clarity contrasts deeply with my other life: I haven't figured out what it means to me to make progress at work. Perhaps it's because I'm not operating at my forte, that I'm not in an environment or job function in which my path and growth flow innately and operate in harmony with the priorities and needs of the organization.
That leads to the greatest question: am I in the right place at all? In my heart, I want to believe I'll instinctively know what it means to make progress when I've found work that truly means something to me. I won't give up; I'll keep asking myself tough questions as I explore and find my way.
While I forge my path there, my labor at the dance studio and at the keys of my beautiful Steinway grand piano will remind me of the way it feels to find my way forward, naturally.
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