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I have had the privilege of having both of my kids work for me at different times. Most employees are a little reluctant to tell the boss exactly what they think.Your children have no such hesitation.Both of mine have been quick to tell me when I have been too harsh, too light on instructions, not generous enough with praise or simply wrong.They have not always delivered the feedback in the way I might have chosen, but they have usually been very clear.It can be quite humbling.But it is also incredibly useful.There is something confronting about hearing your leadership described by someone who knows you well enough not to be particularly impressed by the title. They know the person behind the role. They know when I am tired, distracted, impatient or trying to defend something I should probably just acknowledge.If you ever get the chance to have your kids work with you, take it.Read the rest at <a data-mce-href="https://michelleblicavs.substack.com/p/conflict-isnt-the-problem" href="https://michelleblicavs.substack.com/p/conflict-isnt-the-problem">The Next Third</a>, where I now publish my weekly writing on leadership, purpose and what comes next.

Conflict Isn't the Problem

Earlier this year, I was attending a conference at NSW Parliament House when someone suggested I consider standing for Parliament at the next state election.I was flattered, of course.I have been involved in politics before, and I enjoy it. I have campaigned in local, state and federal elections and was elected to local government in 2011 for a six year term. There is something about the debate and the chance to influence decisions that affect people's lives that I find energising, so it was not an opportunity I dismissed lightly.Over the following weeks, I spoke with a few people whose judgement I respect. One offered some advice that stayed with me."The bus is going past. If you want to get on, get on, because it probably won't come past again."But I found myself asking a different question. Not whether I could do the job. Whether I wanted the life that came with it.Read the rest at <a data-mce-href="https://substack.com/@michelleblicavs/note/p-221273356?r=5sbags&amp;utm_medium=ios&amp;utm_source=notes-share-actiona" href="https://substack.com/@michelleblicavs/note/p-221273356?r=5sbags&amp;utm_medium=ios&amp;utm_source=notes-share-actiona" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Next Third</a>, where I now publish my weekly writing on leadership, purpose and what comes next. If you'd like these in your inbox each Wednesday, <a data-mce-href="https://open.substack.com/pub/michelleblicavs" href="https://open.substack.com/pub/michelleblicavs" target="_blank" rel="noopener">subscribe here</a>. It's free.

Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should

I spend a considerable amount of my working life in meetings.Meetings with members, government representatives, industry leaders, potential sponsors, business owners and people who have ideas about what we should be doing next.Some of those meetings are carefully planned, with clear objectives and an agenda. Others are simply opportunities to have a conversation, build a relationship or understand another person's perspective.And occasionally, I come away wondering whether anything was actually achieved.Earlier this year, I spent a day in Brisbane moving between meetings. I had breakfast with a potential sponsor, met with government representatives, discussed a possible training opportunity over lunch and had another conversation about a potential partnership.One meeting resulted in a sponsorship commitment, which was an excellent outcome. Another made it reasonably clear that a partnership was unlikely in the immediate future. The others were somewhere in between.By conventional measures, I suppose you could say some meetings were more successful than others.But I came away feeling that the entire day had been worthwhile.The conversations had opened opportunities, strengthened relationships and helped me better understand what was happening across the industry.Not everything had resulted in an agreement, a decision or a commitment.And I was quite comfortable with that.It did make me wonder, though, whether we've become so focused on achieving outcomes that we've started measuring the value of our professional relationships by what they produce, rather than the relationships themselves.<h3>When did relationships become transactions?</h3>We have become very good at measuring outcomes.In business, we measure revenue, profitability, customer acquisition and return on investment. In associations, we measure membership growth, engagement, attendance, sponsorship and advocacy outcomes.All perfectly reasonable things to measure. I am responsible for managing an organisation, and I take that accountability seriously.But I wonder whether we've started applying the same thinking to our relationships.We attend a conference and assess its success by the number of contacts we made. We arrange a meeting and ask what business might come from it. We invest time in building a relationship and eventually start questioning whether it is delivering sufficient value.I understand the thinking. Time is valuable, and none of us has an unlimited supply of it.But there is a difference between being intentional about how we spend our time and being transactional about the people we spend it with.Not every person we meet needs to become a customer, sponsor, member or business partner.And not every relationship needs to produce something measurable to be worthwhile.<h3>Relationships beyond agreement</h3>During another trip earlier this year, I had dinner with someone from the surveying profession whose views about the direction of our industry don't necessarily align with mine.It was a perfectly pleasant evening.We talked about the profession, the challenges facing our industry and some of the things happening across the country.I came away recognising that the relationship might never lead to anything particularly significant from an organisational perspective.And that was fine.I had enjoyed the conversation, understood his perspective a little better and hopefully given him a better understanding of mine.That has value.As an association executive, I work with people and organisations who frequently have different interests, priorities and opinions. Sometimes those interests align beautifully. Sometimes they don't.If I only maintained relationships with people who agreed with me, I would have a considerably shorter contact list!More importantly, I would probably be considerably less effective at my job.Leadership requires us to work with people whose perspectives are different from our own. It requires us to listen, understand competing interests and occasionally find common ground where none seemed to exist.We cannot do that particularly well if every conversation begins with an expectation of what we might gain from it.Sometimes listening is the most useful thing we can do.And sometimes maintaining a respectful relationship, even when we disagree, is an achievement in itself.<h3>Being intentional without becoming transactional</h3>Of course, there is another side to this.Relationships require time, and sometimes money. Both are finite.There are conferences I would like to attend, people I would like to meet and opportunities I would genuinely enjoy pursuing. But organisational resources are not unlimited, and neither is my personal capacity.As a leader, I have a responsibility to make sensible decisions about where I invest both.That means recognising that not every invitation needs to be accepted and not every opportunity needs to be pursued.But being selective about how we spend our time doesn't mean we need to become transactional about the people we spend it with.I think this distinction becomes particularly important as we become more experienced.Earlier in our careers, there can be considerable pressure to build networks, make connections and pursue opportunities. We are encouraged to think strategically about who we know and how those relationships might help us progress.There is nothing inherently wrong with that.But after more than thirty years of working with people, I'm increasingly interested in what I can contribute to those relationships rather than simply what might come from them.Can I connect someone with an opportunity? Share something I've learnt? Offer encouragement? Help someone see a situation from another perspective?Sometimes the contribution is small. Sometimes we may never know whether it made any difference.And that's okay.<h3>What makes a conversation worthwhile?</h3>Which brings me back to that day in Brisbane.By the end of it, I had one clear commercial outcome, several useful discussions and at least one opportunity that was unlikely to progress.If I had approached every conversation expecting a return on the time invested, I might have been disappointed.Instead, I came away feeling that the day had been worthwhile.I had learnt something. I'd strengthened existing relationships and developed some new ones. I'd had conversations with people whose interests and perspectives were different from mine.And hopefully, I'd contributed something useful to them as well.I still believe we need to be clear about why we're having meetings and what we're trying to achieve. There are already enough meetings in the world without adding more for the sake of it.But perhaps we need to broaden our understanding of what a successful conversation looks like.So, the next time you finish a meeting without a decision, an agreement or something to add to your list of achievements, don't be too quick to dismiss it.Ask yourself what you learnt. Whether you understood someone a little better. Whether trust was strengthened. And perhaps, most importantly, whether you contributed something worthwhile to the person sitting across from you.Because not every conversation needs to lead somewhere else to have been worth having.Sometimes the conversation itself is enough.

Not Every Conversation Needs an Outcome

I have been working for more than 30 years now, which is slightly alarming to me when I see that number written down.During that time I have worked in different industries, led organisations, employed people, served on Boards, made good decisions and some fairly ordinary ones, dealt with difficult situations, built things that worked and a few things that did not.Somewhere along the way, you accumulate experience.We talk about experience as though simply having it is valuable. And of course it is. There are things I know now that I could not possibly have known at 25 or 35 because I had not lived through enough yet.But I am beginning to wonder whether experience on its own is actually worth very much.If all those lessons remain with us, what happens to them?<h3>Someone saw something in me</h3>One of my earliest jobs was at Bridge Jewellers, a jewellery and gift shop in Carlingford NSW. I was young enough that I don't think I fully understood the value of the stock we had in the store. I just knew I loved the displays, the customers and making things look beautiful.I still remember the day my manager trusted me to set out the front window filled with diamonds and jewels. At the time, I probably saw it as a promotion and a chance to be creative. Looking back, I can see something else. She had decided I was trustworthy.I worked hard. I came in early, stayed late and always offered to help. And this was back in the days when cash was still very much king. I can remember walking out of the shop, across the road to Westpac Bank, carrying a bag with thousands of dollars in the previous day’s takings.It seems almost unbelievable now.What I understand differently today is that someone had seen something in me and given me responsibility before I had the experience to fully appreciate it.Most of us can probably point to someone who did that for us. Someone who trusted us before we had developed our own confidence. Someone who gave us a chance or quietly decided we were capable of more.Those moments matter because they are often where experience begins.<h3>Experience is not the same as wisdom</h3>There is an assumption that age automatically produces wisdom.I am not convinced.You can have 30 years of experience, or essentially the same year repeated 30 times.Experience becomes useful when we reflect on it. What worked? What did not? What would I do differently now? What did I completely misunderstand at the time?Some of my most useful leadership lessons have come from situations I would happily have avoided. The role that did not work out. The person I misjudged. The opportunity I said yes to when I probably should have said no. The leader I worked for who showed me exactly how I did not want to lead.At the time, those experiences did not feel particularly valuable. They just felt difficult.It is only later that you begin to see the patterns. That is one of the benefits of getting further along in your career. You have enough history to recognise that very few experiences are wasted if you are prepared to learn from them.But learning the lesson yourself is only part of it.At some point, the question becomes what do you do with what you have learnt.<h3>Sometimes people need someone beside them</h3>I have had the privilege of serving on a number of Boards, and one of the experiences I value most was mentoring the founder of a not for profit organisation.She had enormous vision and commitment, but from time to time she questioned whether she had enough experience, or whether she was really the right person to be CEO.From where I sat, the answer was much clearer. Her vision for the organisation and her commitment to its purpose were taking it somewhere another leader simply could not have taken it, achieving huge positive impacts across many lives.She did not need someone to take over. She needed someone beside her with a little more experience. Someone who could help her think things through, speak trust and confidence into the difficult days and remind her that she was capable of leading what she had created.I am no longer on that Board, but the organisation continues to thrive. One of the things I enjoy most is watching that CEO now encourage other people around her to step into leadership themselves.That, to me, is where experience becomes valuable.Not when it makes us the person with all the answers, but when it helps someone else develop confidence in their own judgement.<h3>What do we do with what we know?</h3>At 55, I am starting to think that accumulating more experience may no longer be the main point.Perhaps part of the responsibility that comes with experience is deciding what we are going to do with it.That might mean mentoring someone. Giving a younger leader an opportunity before they think they are ready. Explaining not just what decision you made, but how you reached it. Teaching what you know. Building processes that mean an organisation does not rely on what is stored in one person’s head.And perhaps, most importantly, recognising potential in someone else before they can quite see it themselves.Someone once did that for me.Years later, I had the privilege of doing something similar for another leader. Now I watch her create opportunities and confidence in the people around her.That is the part I find interesting.Experience passed on does not diminish. It multiplies.So perhaps the question for those of us who have been around for a while is not simply, “What have I learnt?”It is, “Who is better equipped because I learnt it?”Thirty years of experience kept to ourselves eventually becomes our personal history. Passed on, it can become someone else’s starting point.So what do you do with 30 years of experience?You pass it on.And perhaps the real measure is whether someone else is more capable, more confident or more willing to step forward because of what you learnt along the way.

What Do You Do With 30 Years of Experience?

<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal);" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal);">I <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">have been thinking lately about how we measure a productive day. Most of us count the obvious things. Meetings attended. Problems solved. Emails answered. Decisions made. Tasks completed.But do we count the things that keep us well enough to keep doing all of that?For me, it is my daily walk.I often make a note in my journal at the end of the day. Sometimes the entry is full of work, travel, meetings, decisions and things I managed to get done. And then somewhere near the end I will write, “No walk.”It is usually just an observation. But I have started noticing how often it appears.And it has made me wonder whether I am measuring the day properly.Because I can have a very productive day by every normal measure and still have made no time for the things that are actually good for me.<h3>Productivity is not just output</h3>Earlier in my career, productivity was fairly easy to see. There was always something to build, fix, organise or deliver. Progress often meant doing more, learning more and taking on more responsibility.That still matters. I like getting things done, and some days the work simply needs to be done.But I think the measure changes as leadership changes.At some point, productivity cannot just be about how much we can fit into the day. It also has to include whether we are making room for the things that help us stay well.For me, walking matters physically, but it also gives me time to think. Some of my best ideas come when I am moving and not staring at a screen.For someone else, it might be the gym, swimming, gardening, reading, prayer, time with family, or just getting outside.The activity itself is not really the point.The question is whether there is anything in your day that restores you.<h3>What always gets pushed aside?</h3>The problem is that the things that sustain us are rarely urgent.Nobody sends a calendar invitation telling us to go for a walk. (Though I could always enter this myself!!)There is no crisis that requires us to sit quietly for half an hour, call a friend, read a book or think about the next ten years.So those things get pushed aside.The meeting starts at 10.The deadline is Friday.The phone is ringing.And before long, the things outside work that matter become the things we will get to when life settles down.I am not convinced life ever really settles down.We have to make room for them. And I think Daylight Saving helps me get out and about before it gets dark - but is that making my day longer??<h3>A better measure of the day</h3>So I am trying to broaden my own definition of productivity.Yes, the work counts.But so does the walk.So does exercise.So does time with family.So does writing.So does thinking.So does rest. (I took Friday off and it's a long weekend - that counts right??)Maybe the better question at the end of the day is not just, “What did I get done?”Maybe it is also, “Did I make room for anything today that was good for me?”For me, some days the answer is still:No walk.But at least I am noticing it now.

What Counts as a Productive Day?

Solo traveler thoughtfully holding beverage by café window overlooking traditional mountain village architecture

<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal);" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal);">I <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">had a strange moment recently. I was away for work, the day was finished, dinner was done, and I was sitting alone in an apartment. There was nothing particularly wrong. I was safe, the trip was going well, and I had more than enough ways to fill the evening if I wanted to. Television, podcasts, social media, work, messages. All the usual noise was available.And yet, for a moment, I felt lonely.That surprised me because I actually spend quite a lot of time on my own and, generally, I like it. I enjoy walking on my own. I like having time to think. Writing usually needs some quiet. After a busy week, time alone can feel like a relief rather than a problem.But that night it felt different.<h3>Alone and lonely are not the same thing</h3>Being alone is simply a circumstance. Sometimes it is even a gift. It gives us space to think, reset, pray, write, walk, or simply hear ourselves again after a noisy week.Loneliness is something else. It is the point where the absence of other people starts to feel heavier than the quiet itself.I think that distinction matters, particularly now. We live in a world where we are rarely truly disconnected. There is always something to scroll, watch, read or listen to, and we can fill every spare moment without ever having to sit with ourselves.So perhaps the better question is not, “Am I alone?” but, “How does being alone feel right now?”<ul><li>Does the quiet restore you, or does it start to weigh on you?</li><li><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Does the space help you think, or make you feel disconnected?</li></ul>That night, I realised the answer had shifted.For a little while I sat with it, and then I did something very simple. I called my husband.Nothing profound happened. He did not need to solve anything. We just talked.And almost immediately I was reminded of something I already knew. I was not actually alone.<h3>Sometimes the answer is a person</h3>That moment stayed with me because it reminded me that loneliness is not something to dismiss or explain away. For some people, it is a deep and persistent experience, and a single phone call cannot simply make it disappear.Sometimes what we need is not another podcast, another television show or another hour scrolling through other people’s lives. And I’m not sure AI can adequately fill the void, though ChatGPT and I have some great conversations!We need a person.A friend. A colleague. Someone in the family. Someone whose voice reminds us that we belong somewhere.For me, that phone call was enough. The moment passed, the trip continued, and I came home with a slightly greater appreciation for the ordinary things I had missed.So perhaps another useful question is this:<ul><li>When you feel lonely, who do you call?</li><li><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Not who could you call in theory. Who would you actually call?</li></ul>I think that matters because relationships do not maintain themselves automatically. In a busy life, it is very easy to assume people know we care, assume we will catch up soon, assume there will always be another chance. But time moves quickly and before you know it, a year has gone by and you haven't spoken to that friend!Sometimes we need to make the call.<figure id="figure-khgou0rgicmuhmc72a"data-full-width><img id="khgou0rgicmuhmc72a" src="https://rjdavx8ozyznxeyh.public.blob.vercel-storage.com/production/websites/infinite-images/617a0d21-5e6c-4642-bd87-5993cfdc2e4c-Egk0g7sdBOF21eROjGQ3gt8w4o2dkz.png" alt="Diverse individual in contemplative moment, gazing toward window light, reflecting personal growth and healing" title="Diverse individual in contemplative moment, gazing toward window light, reflecting personal growth and healing" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="Solitude still matters" data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="true"/><figcaption class="body-normal text-gray-500 mt-2">Solitude still matters</figcaption></figure><h3>Solitude still matters</h3>Interestingly, that moment has not made me want to avoid being alone.I still love my walks. I still need time to write. I still value thinking time and the space that comes when nobody needs anything from me for a while.Solitude is important. In fact, I suspect many of us need more of it.But solitude should restore us, not isolate us.We should be able to sit quietly with ourselves without immediately needing to fill the space. But when the quiet starts to feel lonely, we should not be too proud, too busy or too independent to reach out.And for me, there is one more layer.My faith reminds me that I am never truly alone. Jesus is with me in the crowded room, on the plane, on the walk and in the quiet apartment at the end of the day.I know that.But knowing it does not mean I will never feel lonely for a moment.Faith does not require me to deny the ache when it comes. It gives me somewhere to place it, and the courage to respond rather than hide from it.Perhaps that is what I am learning. Being alone is not the problem. Sometimes it is exactly what we need.But when being alone starts to feel like loneliness, reach out.And remember that needing people is not a weakness. It is part of being human.

Unique Leaders

Insights

Conflict Isn't the Problem

Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should

Not Every Conversation Needs an Outcome

What Do You Do With 30 Years of Experience?

What Counts as a Productive Day?

Alone Is Not the Same as Lonely