Managing transitions: taking a leaf out of nature’s book

Managing transitions: taking a leaf out of nature’s book

This summer, one of my dearest friends (let’s call her Jennifer) fulfilled her dream of moving from Paris to Annecy, where she can ski to her heart’s content for almost half the year. Ex-pats get used to having friends come and go – it is part of the job description. I have many overseas friends with whom I am just as close now as when they were in Paris. With others, contact is patchier but pleasing, and with some, we have mutually accepted that our friendship was specific to a certain time. Jennifer is in another category altogether, though. She’s one of those friends who makes you feel like you’re truly travelling through life together. She calls so I can sympathise the first time her optometrist suggests bifocals. I ring her to share something hilarious my four-year-old said at supper. She’s spent Christmases with my family. My kids call her Auntie. Yes, she’s that friend. So, while I still have other great friends here and I know we’ll still speak frequently, her departure is a real loss.

Shortly after Jennifer left, I went on holiday with my family, so it’s actually only now that I’m really feeling her absence. We’ll be moving into the autumn soon and, as I anticipate the leaves falling from the trees, I can’t help but feel the last decade has been somewhat autumnal in tone in general. It has been a time when several ex-pat friends have returned to their native lands, native pals have married and moved to other bits of France, and still others have had babies and retreated into a little family bubble for the cocooning years. That this exodus coincided with me leaving a salaried job to set up my own business, moving to the suburbs, and having two children myself only exacerbated my “end of an era” feeling. Hence why I have been heard to compare my situation with that of a tree in autumn, losing its trusty, long-loved blanket of foliage to reveal slightly sad and wintry boughs.

It sounds slightly morose, I know, but in truth I rather love the autumn, and I also love the metaphor it offers for perpetual change and the hope of renewal. Because the reason trees lose their leaves is so that they can concentrate their stores of energy to survive the cold months and burst forth in springtime, greener and stronger than ever. Nature cannot create newness before first stripping back what was. And so it is with our human experience. When we go through major change, between the life we used to lead and the building of a new life, there must be a void. Just as between autumn and spring, there must be winter.  When one chapter of life ends, there must be a time of emptiness before we can write a new chapter, allowing new connections, hobbies, traditions, friends, projects and job opportunities to emerge.

Autumnal rituals

And they will emerge. Nature abhors a vacuum, as they say. I – indeed, we all – know that deep down, but it’s slightly cold comfort when it’s the bleak midwinter and there’s not a snowdrop in sight. So what does help? Well, transition rituals are definitely a good idea. Taking the time to say goodbye is healthy. Despite the fact that Jennifer and I will still talk several times a week, I gave her a leaving gift and we had a “last” fun Parisian night out to mark the change. I think it also helps to realise that external and internal change don’t necessarily happen at the same time. In his 1980 book Transitions, William Bridges explains how the mental and emotional transitions we feel when we experience major external change – whether good or bad – can happen weeks, months or years after the fact. The knowledge that feelings of loss and bewilderment (for a job we left, a house we sold, a friend who moved away, a lifestyle that ended) can hit much later, when we think we’ve moved on, will not lessen the sadness but will make us better prepared to welcome our feelings and take care of ourselves.

In the workplace, acknowledging that even happy transitions can be challenging is crucial. That might mean providing better support for staff who are promoted or who change jobs. It is important to mark the transition (celebrate a promotion, properly announce a shift in job remit) and ensure there is a clear moment when they change role. So often, internal position changes come with an inevitable period during which the employee manages both old and new role at the same time. The more companies can create a clear demarcation, the easier it is for people to say goodbye, close a chapter, and embrace a new one.

What to do in winter?

I also think that simply accepting the void before the rebirth – making peace with that limbo land between the end of an era and the beginning of a new one – can save us pain an energy. This is counter-intuitive for me, as I’m someone who wants to roll up her sleeves and “fix” things, but it’s a waste of energy. Some feelings just have to be felt and waited out – like when your husband convinces you to try Space Mountain despite the fact that you hate rollercoasters and you realise after a few seconds that a) it’s just as horrific as you had imagined, and b) you cannot get off and this must be what people mean when they say, “the only way out is through”. Sometimes, you just have to ride the rollercoaster, all the while staying curious about your experience, emotions and processes.

If you are a manager, supporting your team during a rocky period at work, for example during a restructure, can feel disempowering. You may not have any power over seismic changes taking place in the company, but you can help your staff by acknowledging that times are tough and encouraging open discussion of both what’s going on and how they are feeling during team meetings. You might begin by admitting that you are not enjoying the rollercoaster much yourself. You may not be able to fix the problem but you can make sure your team feels seen and heard to help them feel less alone during a professional winter of discontent, perhaps.

Celebrating the spring

When you’re waiting for the spring – whether you’re prospecting for a new business and hoping for your first client, keeping an eye out for social opportunities after moving to a new town, or biding your time until a new normal emerges after the arrival of a baby – I have found the key is to find ease. Metaphors about not being a salmon swimming against the current, and Buddhism-inspired notions of non-attachment to specific outcomes immediately spring to mind.

When one chapter of your life ends, it is easy to start viewing it through rose-tinted glasses but, while memories are precious, it’s important not to forget that the new chapter about to be written will bring its own joy. I’m still talking to Jennifer (and many of my other far-flung friends) regularly, and I’m already planning a trip to see her the weekend of Annecy’s annual apple and honey festival (It’s straight out of Gilmore Girls, right? Talk about a silver lining to her move!). But I’m also staying open to the new connections I have begun making – through suburban life, the children’s school, my growing business. Because the old adage is right – change really is the only constant. And the more you can behave like that tree – allowing its leaves to fall, safe in the knowledge that it has enough inner resources to wait out the winter and sure that the spring will bring new life – the more gracefully, easefully, and happily you will face the ever-changing seasons of your life.

Are you struggling with a tough transition? Do you want to make life changes but fear the unknown? You needn’t go through it alone. Working with an understanding, supportive and experienced coach can help you embrace change as you take one step at a time towards a life and career built with purpose and on purpose. Contact me to find out how we can work together.

Read yourself to greater fulfilment, 5 books in the personal development genre

Read yourself to greater fulfilment, 5 books in the personal development genre

5 books in the personal development genre to feed your mind and soul this summer

Four Thousand Weeks

Oliver Burkeman is my find of the year. I gobbled up his latest offering, Four Thousand Weeks – Time Management for Mortals, then proceeded to read through his entire oeuvre. The title refers to the fact that the average human lives for 4,000 weeks and that no matter what we do to lengthen it, pack more in, and be more efficient, in the end we get the time we get.

This book is the antidote to time management, productivity and organisation advice, seeking rather to realign our relationship with time. Interestingly, Burkeman spent years writing “This Column will Change Your Life” for The Guardian, testing all the concepts he is now rather debunking. He has a chatty and often humorous style that makes it an easy read while imparting great wisdom that – I found – changed my relationship to my to-do list instantly.

Daring Greatly

Social worker and shame researcher Brené Brown is the personal development expert to read or watch at the moment. She is everywhere, with TED Talks, a one-off show on Netflix, and a recent new book release. While I haven’t read her latest yet, this year I did read her classic Daring Greatly, which explores how the courage to be vulnerable can transform our lives. The title is inspired by a speech made by Theodore Roosevelt in which he said:

“It is not the critic who counts ; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena… who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”

While the quotation alone is worth reading in full, the book is full of the warmth and wisdom for which Brené is known and loved.

The Paradox of Choice – Why More Is Less

Barry Schwartz’s The Paradox of Choice was first published in 2004, but I only heard of it this year. It’s a brilliant exploration of the ways in which having too many options, possibilities and choices can create anxiety, stress, disappointment and – in some cases – depression.

While it takes the example of shopping as its jumping off point, Schwartz extends his argument to examine the entire gamut of decisions we make every day – from internet provider to romantic partner and career. But luckily, he doesn’t stop there, the book ends with a whole chapter on how to counter the negative effects of having too much choice in life with some practical advice that can be applied straight away. Full of examples that bring his arguments to life plus a healthy dose of humour, this is a thought-provoking page-turner that will definitely get you thinking next time you’re in the supermarket.

Happy Moments

Following up on The Little Book of Hygge (also a fun read), Meik Wiking – founder of Copenhagen’s Happiness Research Institute – published Happy Moments: How to Create Experiences You’ll Remember for a Lifetime in 2019. The book delves into research about both what makes us happy and how memory works to offer insights into how to fill our lives with happy moments and also how to commit those moments to our long-term memories. Wiking has an informal, chatty style that makes the book a pleasure to read and belies the thoroughly research-based information he is sharing. I enjoyed the theoretical parts of the book, but got even more out of the very practical tips Wiking offers for making specific moments more memorable and have been able to implement some of his suggestions – to great effect!

The Choice

My last recommendation is a real heavy-hitter. The Choice is Hungarian Jewish psychologist Dr Edith Eger’s account of her experience of the Holocaust, from the time leading up to her deportation to Auschwitz right through to her return to Germany years later to give a talk at Berchtesgaden, Hitler’s former retreat in Bavaria. The book is part autobiography, part self-analysis, part advice and insight, and it is incredibly powerful. While it obviously contains distressing passages, Eger’s vibrant and unbreakable spirit elevates the writing beyond history or memoir. Its ultimate message is one of hope and healing, with kindness and wisdom in every sentence. Drawing on her work as a psychologist, Eger uses her experience and expertise to offer the reader insights that are applicable to us all about how to endure, develop resilience and choose hope, even at the darkest of times.

Be Your Own (Cross-Cultural) Coach: Taking the Shock Out of Cultural Difference

Be Your Own (Cross-Cultural) Coach: Taking the Shock Out of Cultural Difference

Two fish are cruising around their tank one day when they pass an older fish coming from the other direction. “How’s the water?” asks the solo swimmer. “What water?” reply the young sprats. That’s culture. It’s the water we’re swimming around in that we do not even realise is there.

Well, not until we leave the country we grew up in to move to, say, Paris, France, and notice – with a queasy mixture of horror and excitement – that we’re not in Kansas (or Kensington, Ko Samui or Kingston) anymore and people do things differently here.

Intercultural adaptation: step by step

The cultural sociologist Milton Bennet developed a model of intercultural sensitivity that identified the six standard ways in which people experience, interpret, and interact across cultural differences. On one end of the scale, we have denial: the state of not even realising that other cultures might do things differently. Not many of us are here given today’s globalised economy, but little details can creep up on you. I nearly fell off my chair when I was told that people drink port as an aperitif in France, not as a postprandial that gets passed to the left.

Then comes defence.

We all know this one: it rises to the surface any time I go to the post office in France and usually takes the form of “What do these people think they’re doing? Why can’t they just do things the way we do back home? It’s so much more organised!”

Thirdly, minimisation – that state of mind in which we are convinced that our cultural differences are insignificant and mainly focused on our countries’ differing relationships with cheese. When we get past these, we reach the last three stages of acceptance, adaptation and integration. A sort of Holy Grail Trinity, if you’ll excuse a shamelessly mixed metaphor.

The shock of culture

Culture shock is a heady mix of the first three states of being. It’s that crashing realisation that not only do differences exist, but they are far from minimal and that our own culture has not necessarily got it right, indeed that – whisper it – perhaps there is no right. It comes to us all and can leave even the hardiest of ex-pats breathlessly running for the nearest little slice of home they can find (for me, it’s always the WHSmith bookshop on rue de Rivoli).

Culture shock is about the loss of the familiar, it’s about feeling like you’re swimming in ambiguity and the unknown.

At its deepest level, it’s a feeling of loss of identity and having one’s values questioned simply by living among people who do not share them. Culture shock can be brutal and – in my experience of nearly 19 years in Paris – can strike at any time since new cultural differences come to the fore as we advance through the various stages of life.

What are you saying?

However inevitable culture shock may be though, it can be anticipated, alleviated and managed. To go back to our fish joke, the first step towards managing culture shock is taking a look at the water in which you are swimming – figuring out the values that underpin the society that shaped you. One portal into decoding your country’s values is its treasury of proverbs and sayings. These often carry deeply held beliefs and messages. Numerous American business coaching clients have told me that the question they apply when assessing potential suppliers is “What have you done for me lately?” This speaks to a value of performance and productivity, and not resting on your laurels. The Mexican saying “Mi casa su casa” reveals values around hospitality, openness and inclusion. What sayings does your culture use?

Nuance is crucial, of course. Every individual is different, and here we are talking in broad brushstrokes. So why not think a little about your own personal values? They will influence how you experience other cultures too. So, think of a time in your life when you felt fantastic, like you were functioning at 100% and exactly where you needed to be. What were you doing, who was involved, what impact was made? Alternatively, think of a time when you were angrier than you ever thought possible. Often, anger is a result of a strongly held value being violated in some way. For each memory, consider what’s at stake and what makes it so vivid.

More than a slogan

Now you can turn your attention to the culture of your host country. What does this nation hold dear? What truths seem self-evident to its citizens? What are its major proverbs? Does it have a slogan? The easiest way to start in France is with the classic liberté, égalité, fraternité – these are far more than just aspirational words in my experience. They truly underpin the way the society is structured and run. I see liberté in the “lack” (to a British mind) of school uniform. I see égalité in the country’s healthcare and social security systems. I see fraternité in the very strong (again, from a British perspective) unions and workers’ groups.

Seeing values behind behaviour

Seeing the values that a country is upholding in its way of organising and doing things can help you to see its innocence or neutrality. This can in turn help with culture shock. Faced with behaviour that we find odd, a reply we consider rude, or a process that seems twisted, it can truly help to look for the value that is being honoured.

When my daughter started school, I complained to my husband that the list of required fournitures scolaires was ridiculously specific. We couldn’t just get notebooks; the school specified the size, number of pages, and even how big the little squares that covered each page had to be. To my British mind, this was some kind of nanny state on crack; to my husband, it was simply a way of ensuring that – to the extent possible – every child started school with the same stuff, the same possibilities, in other words, égalité.

Becoming more aware of your own culture and decoding the beliefs and values underpinning the culture of your host country will not necessarily change how you think or feel. But it will make you more tolerant and better equipped to deal with clashes and misunderstandings when they arise. Knowing where your culture and that of your host country might be at odds can help you anticipate difference and – literally – be less shocked by it.

Cultural awareness can get you a step closer to operating like an anthropologist, which is a perspective and way of functioning that I think every ex-pat should cultivate since it is a position from which we can observe and be fascinated by our subject while also being able to see it for what it is – not better or worse than us, just different.

Source : www.inspirelle.com

What’s your story? Finding a narrative that serves you

What’s your story? Finding a narrative that serves you

Do you ever feel like your life consists of simply keeping all the plates spinning? I know I do.

On good days, I look at all the crockery I’ve got under full rotary control and smile smugly. On other days, it can feel like I’m just barely keeping the plates from crashing down like a porcelain house of cards. Like recently, when my son’s teacher emailed one Wednesday evening to inform us she would be off sick until the end of the week. I found myself cancelling three appointments for the next day then looking after my three-year-old while completing writing assignments with unmoveable deadlines by working in a tag-team shift system with my husband, and schlepping my little boy into central Paris when I went for a medical check-up I’d booked months before and was not about to push back.

I was having a moan discussion with my husband about this feeling of chasing my tail when it occurred to me that my feelings of overwhelm were in part due to the metaphor I was using and, as a result, the story I was telling myself about my life. What if I wasn’t spinning plates, in fact? What if my narrative were different?

The stuff of life

The other realisation I came to while whining talking to my husband was that harking back to simpler days when I all I had to manage was school, friends and a few hobbies was pointless. Life is no longer easy; perhaps it never was. So many of us yearn for a simpler life, by which we mean one that is pared down and stripped back to the essential. A million wellbeing magazines and articles tell us that slowing down, doing less and BEING more are the answers to all our ailments. And it’s true that during the recent lockdowns the lack of places to go and people to see was actually something of a relief to many of us. However, while I definitely felt the pressure to DO and SEE and GO ease off under lockdown, I wouldn’t want to live that way all the time. Because isn’t some degree of plate-spinning in fact the very stuff of life? I don’t mean breathless rushing, double-booking and overworked stress, but the juggling we do to ensure the kids get to school, do homework, eat well, see friends and take part in hobbies; to plan holidays, weekends away, day trips and evenings out; to engage with our work fully and carve out fulfilling careers; to see friends, take care of our health and stimulate our minds. While it often feels like all these to-do items are weighing me down, keeping me busy, and causing brain-ache, they are all activities I have chosen for myself at some point. And they are not going away (nor would I want them to), so why bemoan the spinning plates? Why not simply bin them and find a new metaphor?

The story I’m telling myself is…

In her filmed talk “The Call to Courage”, the higher being that is Brené Brown shared how she uses the phrase “The story I’m telling myself is…” to defuse arguments with her husband. She offers it up as a way of expressing one’s own interpretation of behaviour or events that might not be accurate or real but which is “the story I’m telling myself”. It occurs to me that we are constantly telling ourselves stories about our lives. And the literary devices we use – like metaphors and similes, to which I am particularly partial – are not just descriptive but prescriptive. They don’t just express what we feel, they can create it. So, each time I picture myself in a circus ring with a big red nose on frantically spinning plates, my mental image stresses me out. So what if I changed the story I’m telling myself? What if I imagine myself as a strong and sturdy oak tree holding its branches high and supporting its lush foliage with grace and ease? My chest releases and I can breathe a little easier. The tree bends in the storm, but is flexible enough not to be broken. Sometimes it drops a few leaves, but nothing catastrophic occurs, and new ones grow. Occasionally a bird lands on a bough, adding a little extra weight, but the tree knows it’s just temporary and that it can survive. If we push my metaphor to the extreme (and why wouldn’t we?), the tree also knows when it’s able to carry more leaves and when it’s the right moment to shed a few and take a break.

What a difference that image makes! Suddenly the story I’m telling myself is one of capability, strength and stability as opposed to panicking, rushing and flirting with failure. It’s about me making a choice which leaves I allow to grow on my branches, as opposed to dancing to the tune of some sadistic ringmaster. One story empowers and calms me, the other robs me of agency – and sleep. In the end, I still have the same to-do list, and I haven’t used any self-help hacks to boost my productivity, prioritise and prune my relationships, or learn to delegate. I’ve simply changed the story I’m telling myself, throwing all those plates to the ground like I’m in a touristy Green restaurant and choosing a new metaphor that works for my peace of mind, not against it.

So, what would happen if you went all “choose your own adventure” on some of the stories you’re telling yourself? How might changing the way you imagine and describe yourself and your life offer you greater control, strength, flexibility, self-respect, peace, joy and energy? What new story will you choose to tell yourself today?


If some of the stories you’re telling yourself are keeping you stuck or no longer serving you, why not take some time to work out a new narrative with an experienced and empathetic coach who can help you build a life lived with purpose and on purpose. Contact me for your free introductory coaching session.

Reclaim your thoughts: changing your relationship to your inner monologue

Reclaim your thoughts: changing your relationship to your inner monologue

I have been known to joke that at the ripe old age of 41 I do not feel any different from when I was 21, and in some ways that is true. In others, I am happy to say, it is not: I am definitely more confident and self-possessed now, and less concerned with what others think of me. So while the changes to my physical self that result from the passing years might be somewhat unwelcome, they are a fairly small price to pay for the huge advantages of wisdom accrued and perspective gained.

Indeed, I have often thought that as we move through life, one of our aims should be to acquire as much wisdom and insight as we can, compiling our own Desiderata or, if you are also around my age and grew up in the UK, you may remember Baz Luhrmann’s Sunscreen song (“If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it”). In my years of coaching and extensive reading in the personal development genre, I feel like I have acquired more than my fair share of advice. Richard Carlson, Martin Seligman, Edith Eger, William Bridges – to name but a few – have all contributed to my understanding of the world and myself, and helped me negotiate life with greater ease, peace and grace. However, no nugget of wisdom from a book has ever been able to rival those offered by my nearest and dearest. Most often, it is their voices I hear whispering words of wisdom in times of trouble.

Recently, it is a little gem of my husband’s that has been keeping me on track: don’t listen to yourself when you’re tired. While it seems intuitive, this simple idea actually distils several important notions that can really help deal with an intrusive inner monologue and what I call “2 a.m. thoughts” – the dark thoughts that descend sometimes and make everything seem bad and wrong. Fully grasping its wisdom is key to harnessing its power!

The triple threat to good sense: Tired/Hungry/Cold

The first important point my husband has spent years reminding me is that no one thinks straight when they are tired, hungry or cold. When I’m tired, everything seems like an uphill climb and problems are insurmountable. When I’m hungry, life feels like an emergency (the real emergency being that I need to eat!). When I’m cold, I can’t focus on anything other than getting warm. This may seem blindingly obvious but it’s a circular problem – the very state that’s stopping you from thinking straight also stops you from realising that you’re not thinking straight.

When you become a parent, it is especially important to remember this as you spend most of your time tired and also a lot of time putting someone else’s needs before your own. As a result, you are usually tired, and often also hungry (I’ll eat once I get the baby down) and/or cold (kids love going to the park – even in the depths of winter!).

So, point number one is that when you are tired, hungry or cold, it is not the right time to analyse an issue, brainstorm solutions to a problem, or think through a major life decision. If I start down the road of thinking when “T/H/C”, my husband always reminds me just to set aside my thoughts for when I’m in a better place physically and – much as it pains me to say it since it seems to set a dangerous precedent – I have to admit he is right.

Listening to yourself is a choice

The second interesting thing about this advice is the notion that we have a choice about whether or not (or when) we listen to our own thoughts. We are all familiar with that little voice inside our head that maintains a non-stop monologue about everything from what we think of ourselves, others and the world around to our views on what’s being said on the news, a star’s choice of Oscar gown, or an advert on the side of a bus… It’s like a radio DJ curating our mental soundtrack. However, the difference with a DJ is that we reserve the right to turn off the radio, while we often give free rein to the voice inside our head. If we heard a load of rubbish expressed on the TV we’d mutter “Come off it!” and quickly bring up Netflix to watch something sensible and calming like Squid Game. But we have a tendency to feel obliged to listen to ourselves, even if what is being expressed is unkind, judgemental, critical, unreasonable, lacking in evidence, or quite simply untrue. When we realise that we have a choice about how much we listen to our own thoughts, it’s like we finally locate our own mental volume or off-switch. Suddenly, we can choose whether to give credence to our own thoughts or instead to turn down the volume or change the radio station entirely.

Just because you think it doesn’t mean it’s true

The obvious extension of giving ourselves the right not to listen to our own inner monologue is the realisation that our thoughts are not necessarily an accurate reflection of reality. How is it that you can go to bed feeling chirpy and wake up feeling like the world is against you? Your situation has not changed overnight, but your inner monologue and analysis of your life is radically different. Your thoughts have become negative, dragging your emotions down with them. But not every thought we think is true. Realising and internalising this is hugely liberating. When negative thoughts pop into your head, you have the option to assess them for accuracy before believing them and letting them affect your mood or behaviour.

So, in the spirit of Luhrmann’s Sunscreen: “If I could offer you only one tip for the future, it would be never listen to your own thoughts when you’re tired, hungry or cold.” And always remember that your thoughts are just thoughts, not the Gospel truth. You have a choice about whether or not to believe them – and indeed, whether to listen to them at all.


If you want support taking stock of your life and working out where to put your energy, holistic coaching with an experienced professional can help you figure out which thoughts are worth listening to and how you want the soundtrack of your life to be. Contact me for your free introductory coaching session to find out how working together can help you build a life lived with purpose and on purpose.

Focus on the how: setting New Year’s Intentions

Focus on the how: setting New Year’s Intentions

If I read the phrase “these uncertain times” one more time, I will not be held accountable for my actions. It’s flat, hackneyed, over-used – and I’m sure I’m guilty of having written it myself. That said, it is a fairly accurate description of our current situation. While I don’t believe we live in a more dangerous, difficult or indeed uncertain age than any other, I think we have of late been suffering from a very specific kind of confusion, ambiguity and unpredictability. Can we travel? Mask or no mask? Will school be open today? Will events go ahead? Can I leave the house?

Unsurprisingly for a coach, I am usually in full resolutions mode at this time of year. I’m setting goals, defining objectives, listing behaviours to change or adopt – both for me and with my clients. However, given the aforementioned uncertainty of our times, I am finding it rather hard to get excited about planning my year. It seems futile to set too many objectives when the goalposts are changing so often, but starting a new year without any kind of momentum is anathema to me.

So, what can you do if you want to get 2022 off to a mindful start and a positive direction, but you can’t quite find it in you to set SMART goals and make a chart with shiny gold stars? For me, this year’s resolutions are going to give achievement a rest and focus instead on intention. In other words, not so much of the what (or where and when) but a bit more of the how and why.

It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it

So, what’s the difference between an objective and an intention? Well, when I take my children to school, for example, my objective is very simple: I want to get them both to the school gates on time, fully dressed and shod, and carrying all the things they need. Now I’ll just wait while all the parents reading this pick themselves up off the floor from laughing at my calling that objective simple – it is indeed anything but! But you get my point. My intention for our journey to school is more complex. As we walk, I want to enjoy a moment with the children when my attention cannot be elsewhere. I want to take the opportunity to chat with them, maybe play games like I Spy, and generally set a positive tone for our day. All too often, the achievement of my objective seems at odds with my ability to stick to my intention. But when I am on my fifth “Please go round the muddy puddles!” (curse Peppa Pig) and their hundredth “I’ve got a stone in my shoe”, holding my intention in mind helps me keep calm, retain perspective, and remember that, to me, how we get to school is almost as important as getting there at all.

Resolving with intent

Let’s apply this to topics that are often the basis for resolutions. Getting healthy, for example. The objective might be to lose a few kilos and gain some muscle. The way in which you go about doing that and the activities you put in place will differ greatly depending on your intention, which might be anything from “self-care” to “setting an example to the kids” or “moving with joy”. Your objective defines your destination, but your intention sets the tone for the trip there.

You don’t even need to associate an intention to an objective to experience the benefits of this psychological hack. What would it feel like to enter 2022 without goals and objectives but with the simple intention of, say, prioritising kindness towards yourself and other people? Your intention might be a single word: strength, joy, patience, Namaste. Or a colour. Or maybe it takes the form of an image: a tree in gusty winds that is flexible enough to bend and so is never broken, for example. Or perhaps it’s even a little abstract – like a brilliant UK advert I remember from years ago encouraging people to be more playful and enthusiastic with the slogan “Be more dog”. Just think about the flavour, tone and colour you want to experience this year and see what comes to you.

Let your intention guide you

However you express your intention, simply by setting it and holding it in your mind, you will find you have a guide to help you with choices all year long. I know Christians who ask themselves “What would Jesus do?” when facing difficult decisions. If that’s not your thing, try asking what your intention would do. Your to-do list in overloaded, a friend calls to ask for help with a work issue, and you need to pick up the kids in 30 minutes. What would “self-care” do? What would “focus” do? What would “energetic” do? Even if you don’t call on your intention for active guidance, just setting it and then letting it drift to your subconscious mind will affect your mood and choices more than you may realise.

In setting an intention for your year, you take your mind off your destination for a while and focus on how you are journeying through life. I am convinced that, given today’s circumstances, setting an intention for 2022 will go a lot further towards boosting wellbeing, happiness and fulfilment than best-laid plans and SMART goals.


Whether you want more fulfilment in your personal life, career, family, relationships or friendships, holistic support from an experienced coach can help you take effective action backed by the right intentions to keep you on track. Contact me for your free introductory coaching session to find out how working together can help you build a life lived with purpose and on purpose.