Robert Godden’s musings and rants

Last week, not long after writing my blog, I resigned from my job.

If you re-read “Spread Your Wings” below, it seem pretty obvious that I was about to. It’s not going to be announced until later today – I’m counting on the fact that this blog is not exactly mass communication of a message, but twitter me if you have a comment on that!

So, why leave an interesting and exciting job with a great start-up that has taken the Adelaide market by storm?

After several years in the planning stages, it kicked off last year, and I was employee number one. For eighteen months I’ve put in huge weeks and we’ve achieved a lot. The staff levels have grown exponentially. Our first trading year has been a multi-million dollar smash hit success. The directors are very happy.

But I’m not happy.

Several managers have described me as a butterfly. I flit frm interesting task to interesting task. For any micro-manager out there, you might see that as a weakness.

But without small, flittering insects who pollinate as they go, we would not be here.

In a start-up, a butterfly is invaluable – there’s just so much to do. People who can work on a revolving schedule of twenty projects – and deliver about 90% of them – are actually a great asset, as more methodical people will be overwhelmed with a need to make everything perfect, as opposed to make everything happen.

When I’ve worked in big, big organisations, a butterfly is pretty useful there too (For example, the entirely fictitious story “Intestinal Fortitude” in my book 1001 Nights is a thinly-veiled recounting of my experiences doing just that). You need to have a few agitators for change, or you become stale.

The problem is, butterflies aren’t that useful in an organisation that is consolidating. So, I’m leaving.

I have no complete plans. No definite job to go to. I am considering buying a business, I’m shortlisted for a role outside of recruitment, I’m considering running my own consultancy and I’ve been approached to head a division for a major recruiter.

All jobs for a butterfly?

When is it time to leave your job?

What a great question that is.

It used to be that people would hang around in a job they hated for years, because leaving was such a big deal. But times have changed.

So, what drives us to change?

I think the lack of challenge is the easiest and most positive reason to cite. “Well, I’m bored, so I’m off” sounds good, but it’s amazing how many people who say this go into fundamentally the same job elsewhere.

Opportunity is a better reason. An opportunity to explore something new, make a wad of cash, to work for yourself. To test yourself, to put your family in a better position, to work with someone you admire – there’s opportunity to be found everywhere.

But there’s two schools of thought – was Jon Mitchell right – “You never know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone” or is it true you can’t grasp something with both hands if your hands are already full? In other words, do you sit back and slowly find a better deal or just say “to hell with it”, quit and blaze forward?

I would have said, at one time, it depends on the kind of person you are. I now think it depends on the kind of person you are now.

We all change, and opportunity and risk abound.

The work environment can play a major part in your decision, and not always a positive one. If you are overworked and/or underpaid and/or bullied and/or part of a culture that puts you under stress, then you might not see the picture clearly until you resign.

That will sharpen your thoughts!

But it’s easier to get a job if you’ve got one, according to conventional wisdom. Well, conventional wisdom has been wrong before!

Ultimately it’s down to the individual, with help and support from those closest to them. Omen and portents, faith (in anything, including oneself), further opportunity, all play a part, but at the end of the day, it’s a big decision.

And it’s up to you. Play it safe or leap of faith.

You’ll know when it’s time to spread your wings.

I love LinkedIn network statistics.

My direct list is OK, my indirect list is huge, but the number of people in my home town has remained relatively low – I only cracked 5000 recently.

Last Saturday, I made a decision that I would become the most LinkedIn person in Adelaide. I did this after discovering that you can list people by number of connections – I know that’s a pretty obvious feature, but I had never looked for it.

My thought was that I would find out who the top LinkedIn people in Adelaide were, and send them requests. That’s a good start. It will build my list generally, and I hoped, locally in particular.

So, I did the search, and found that I already am the most LinkedIn person in Adelaide.

Wow, what a warm glow of smug achievement. I was a terribly ineffective user of LinkedIn until I met Dave Mendoza in April, and a light went on in my head. Look at me now, everybody!

But not one to rest on my laurels, I wrote to a bunch of other highly LinkedIn people in Adelaide, and requested connection.

So I dared to dream. Given that I’m less than an eighth as well connected as Stan Relihan, how do I rate in Australia?

Do I dare to dream Top Twenty? Top Fifty? Must be top hundred, surely?

Well, no, no and no.

As of this morning, I sit in position number 191.

This exercise has made me think about why people are on LinkedIn, so I posted a simple question: Is it better to give or receive on LinkedIn.

Given the Pledge (see my post ‘One Vision’ below) asking any question has its price, so such an open one means I’ll be very busy Wednesday – that’s my question answering day.

Apart from one bitter reply, the overwhelming ethos of LinkedIn is to give.

I think that is the miracle of LinkedIn. I suspect people mainly join to further their own ends, but get swept along in the tremendous feeling of goodwill.

Whilst I’ve found few good candidates on LinkedIn; that’s just my day job. It’s the community on LinkedIn that keeps me at the keyboard in early hours of the morning, swapping ideas and advice.

Adelaide is my hometown by choice; I wasn’t born here. LinkedIn is my virtual community by choice; and the stats don’t matter – being a part of something bigger than yourself is always inspiring.

I’m sure many people in my industry hear the question as often as I do: “So, why do you work in recruitment?”

The glib answer that falls off of my tongue is: “because you can change people’s lives”.

There’s no more satisfying feeling than when you ring that superb candidate to tell them they have the role that they really wanted – as a matchmaker, you’ve consummated a successful relationship: one that may last many years, if not virtually forever.

But like matchmaking, that’s not always the case.

Nevertheless, if you’ve done your job well, you feel the world is a better place.

It’s easy for us to get wrapped up in our own self-importance. “Thanks to me, that company has gone from strength to strength since I appointed the new General Manager/ CEO/ Chauffeur/ Accountant/ Washroom Attendant” is a pretty comfortable thought pattern.

You have a lovely smug feeling about the great job you did for your client. But for me, it’s always about the candidate. I like to think that a brand new, better paying, challenging role; particularly for a nice candidate, is a massive life-changing event.

I fell into recruitment after spending the early part of my career in PC sales, primarily to families. I loved the feeling that the PC was for many people (and we’re talking late ‘80s, early 90’s) one of the most significant and expensive purchases they would make. I loved being part of that commitment.

So, that paints a picture. I wonder how many out there are like me. 43, happy with life, feel like you’re making a difference.

At 17, I had different ideas. I was about to conquer the rock world and explode onto the world stage. I was sure of it! As part of a three-part post-punk band who were almost certainly the best or, at worst, second best band in the country town I grew up in; myself, Paul and Charlie were destined for big things. But unbelievably; something slipped ‘twixt cup and lip. Perhaps it was my overwhelming lack of talent.

The other two guys were very important to me, but after high school we scattered across Australia, and until last year, I had not much idea where they were. Then Facebook happened.

Thanks to Facebook, I’m now in semi-regular contact with various people I knew 20, 30 or more years ago.

That’s how I know that Charlie – my best mate in the world for maybe 2 years in the early ‘80s – graduated with two degrees from university a week or so ago – at the same time as being diagnosed with a condition that the words “life-threatening” hardly do justice.

In another hour I’ll be in the office, struggling to tell myself that the sourcing exercise I’ll be working on is as important today as it was on Friday.

I’ve often heard people use the phrase “Get some perspective”. But to quote the late and great Douglas Adams “if life is going to exist in a Universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion”

*(The title for this blog post is a quote from Monty Python’s meaning of life. I was tossing up between that and “Vale of Tears”; but if you’re looking for a quote, Monty Python wins every time.)