Transitions

A reader glancing through my earlier post, "Careers," could be forgiven for assuming that I've become an expert at making transitions, at least in my work life. (My ability to navigate personal transitions is, quite clearly, from all the other posts here, weak, at best.) But over the past 19 years, I have had at least 15 separate positions inside 10 companies or institutions, not counting all my second jobs, projects, freelance writing gigs, and night teaching work.

Over these two decades, there have been few constants. The only pattern is everything has kept changing, and like most people I have to struggle to keep up. It's not that changes in business, technology, or the profession of journalism frighten me -- in general, I like the changes sweeping through our era, but they bring with them certain costs, including serious disruption in many of our personal lives. Including mine.

At the core of everything I have done, in all of my various careers, is writing and story-telling. I spent many years also doing research and reporting, and sometimes I still do. But the second half of my career has been much more about editing and managing content than creating it. Even in these latter roles, writing still forms the core of my approach, and is the main element in all of this that interests me.

At dinner the other night, a friend who produces television documentaries was telling me about the writing that forms the central element in producing her pieces. The editor I had dinner with last night has as her true passion writing, not editing. These and many other friends in the business understand it all comes back to the story.

And the story-teller.

Over the years, as I've moved from job to job, sometimes by my own initiative, sometimes not, I've been struck by the uniqueness of each corporate culture I encounter. Companies often exist in silos, especially in the Valley, where guarding technology and business secrets is paramount.

Almost by definition, I've spent more time as an outsider, or newcomer, than insider, and I often gravitate to others who may feel on the margins of whatever organization I happen to be in at the time. It just seems like it is those with less power and influence who often have the best insights into why a place functions the way it does.

Of course, I've often been one of top executives, too, and therein lies a contradiction. I've never appointed myself to a top job, however; I've mainly been picked out of the middle of organizations and placed there by higher-ups. This distinction is important in the sense that I rarely find myself interested in, or motivated by, personal power. To me, harnessing the collective power of the group is much more my goal than individual milestones or credits that might accrue to me.

I think the reason this is how it is for me is that I am at heart a writer and story teller, not an organization man. I'm by nature an outsider, not an insider. In fact, I'm usually more interested in the story of what I am doing than the actual work itself -- or at least my brain seems to be wired in such a way that I am as likely to be constructing a narrative in my head at any one moment as exclusively focusing on the task at hand.

I don't know what all of this has to do with the title of this post -- transitions -- other than this whole effort by me is an attempt to make yet one more unwanted change in my life. This time, it is about letting somone I love go. I don't want to, but apparently I have to. The only resources I have in this battle are my history and my story telling.

Therefore, night after night, I write.