Cleaning the Hair Trap
My article today was supposed to be about initiative and leadership, but I hit a wall about a third of the way through. The words weren't flowing, I wasn't connecting with the material, so I stepped away for a bite to eat and a shower. As the water heated up, I noticed the shower drain was backing up. An expletive escaped me – I knew what that meant. Cleaning the hair catcher. Ugh. It's truly my least favourite chore, a disgusting job I secretly hope my wife tackles before I do (and I'm sure she's thinking the same about me). But I did it, clearing out the tangled mess.
Afterward, something shifted. The frustration and disconnection from my writing had vanished, replaced by a surge of energy to get back to work. The catalyst? Tackling that loathsome task. It was necessary, yes, but also something my wife probably would have done if I hadn't. If no one had done it, the immediate impact would have been minor – a bit more time, a little more angst. But in the long run, constantly avoiding "dirty work" can have devastating consequences. If my aversion to unpleasant tasks meant I always left them for others, it would inevitably breed resentment, corroding relationships. I could, of course, pay someone to do it, or simply ignore it and hope for the best. Again leading to longer term negative work environments.
That mundane act of cleaning a drain got me thinking about the tasks I hated at work. Did I jump in, procrastinate, delegate, or simply ignore them? Honestly, I did all of the above. But as my career progressed, I noticed patterns. Early on, I wasn't always clear about what I loved versus what I detested. I had general preferences, things I was good at, and things I wasn't. I've always gravitated toward work involving other people, even if it was challenging. Given a choice between a meeting and writing a report, the meeting always won. These choices were preference-driven, not competence-driven. I preferred meetings, but I wasn't necessarily skilled at running them or making them valuable. Moving from a student manager to a full-time role, my preferences often dictated my decisions, with my competencies taking a backseat. This led me to focus on team activities, social connections, and fun. But to truly maximize those elements, I had to master the less appealing components of the job. It was hard to socialize and have fun with my team if I couldn't consistently demonstrate that the work was getting done, and getting done well. They couldn't thrive in my preferred environment if they weren't successful themselves. I began to understand that an engaged staff (my preference) required me to do things I disliked, to create the collective capacity for that engagement. Competency, I learned, was different from preference.
The middle years of my career were all about competence. While I was still drawn to managing people based on my preferences, I became intensely focused on developing my skills. I became proficient at things I loved and things I felt indifferent about. I also realized that many of my preferences weren't backed by competence, and I had to either adapt or let them go. Conflict resolution became one of my strengths during this time. I had little natural inclination for assertiveness or confronting tension, but my early career experiences taught me that addressing conflict was essential to being in my preferred state. As my competencies grew, so did my comfort in stepping outside my preference zone. I learned to operate effectively in uncomfortable situations and, more importantly, to recover quickly. As I became more competent at these less preferred tasks, others began to perceive them as my preferences, further bolstering my confidence. Take writing, for example. It's still outside my comfort zone, and early in my career, I'd avoid any task requiring extensive writing. But in more senior roles and during further education, writing became a critical skill. I struggled to articulate my ideas in written form, but with the support of teachers and colleagues, my growing competence motivated me to keep developing. The turning point, where my writing competence finally started to outweigh my aversion to it, was completing my doctoral dissertation. I loathed almost every aspect of it – tedious, isolating, and riddled with self-doubt. But I had excellent advisors who criticized, challenged, and encouraged me to find my own writing voice. Looking back, I can pinpoint many competency improvements from that period in my career that now make it difficult for me, and others, to distinguish whether I act out of preference or simply skill.
Now, in the final third of my career, my perspective on disliked or less competent tasks has completely reframed. It's about the ability to zoom in and out. When faced with something I dread, I quickly consider its place within the larger system and how its completion aligns with a bigger goal. Does answering an email quickly truly matter? Yes, if you're striving to build a team identity of responsiveness. Writing is now viewed as story telling and engagement which turns a task into a purpose. This ability to connect small behavioural choices with purpose-driven goals lessens the negative impact of preferences and fuels competency development. Delegation shifts from simply handing off unwanted tasks to actively fostering competence in others to achieve a future goal. Preferences and competency decisions are replaced by decisions centred on purpose and meaning. My success is no longer the sole focus; the success of others takes centre stage. And that refocusing produces collective success and generative impact.
From a leadership development perspective, it's certainly good to align your preferences and competencies. But to be a good leader, can you develop competencies that aren't natural preferences, making them feel like preferences? And to be a great leader, can you infuse such purpose and meaning into your team's work that everyone is willing to tackle non-preferred tasks and develop the skills needed for collective success? I'll always hate cleaning that shower drain, but after today, I see more clearly just how impactful that simple act truly is.
