What to do when you're all out of puffins

Photo by Wynand van Poortvliet.

There are two reasons most professional development is awful. Well, at least two reasons. The first is that the topics are often objectively dry. And second, it's really hard to learn something new and then go back and apply it to your work. The terrible stat is something like 70 percent of what's learned is forgotten or abandoned before it makes it back to the organization. Ooof.

We work hard to sail over these low bars in the programs we build. One, to breathe life into otherwise dry topics. Two, to keep it grounded enough that folks know what to do when they go to use whatever it is the program covered.

Our job is to be squarely in the 30 percent of training that is not only useful but, ideally, fun. Cause otherwise, what's the point?

Puffins, puffins everywhere

In March of 2020, just before the first lockdowns, we took over the Art Gallery of Ontario. To kick off three days of deep work, we asked bosses to write the story of their organizations. The tightest, non-jargony version they could get to. And then they had to pair up with strangers and tell the story.

The exercise was called "Make Me Give a Shit." With one person sharing their story and the other person listening. The person listening was given only two phrases they could use to respond. The first was, "fuck yeah!" and the second was, "tell me more."

People asked if they really had to swear at strangers. We get that folks often have a complex relationship with profanity. So we said, "You don't have to swear if that's not authentic to you. But if you don't FEEL it in your bones, ask them to tell you more until you get to at least a strong 'heck yes.'"

If you hold vision or strategy for your organization, you know why this exercise works. Getting people to give a shit is the gig. Also any time you get to swear in a sanctioned and safe and professionally-appropriate way (positive, enthusiastic, ideas-focused), you're sort of winning.

To introduce the exercise, we had an image of a puffin, excitedly calling out to another puffin. Our team started calling him the Fuck Yeah Puffin and the name stuck. We made him into enamel pins. He is a custom slack emoji. We once tried to get him onto a Dairy Queen cake, only to be called back and told he was too obscene to be printed on ice cream. We eventually got him on a giant cookie instead.

While our puffin friend seems silly and light and fun, he's doing some heavy lifting. He is carrying the story of your organization. And he's how you know if that story is connecting. Or falling flat.

The puffin is the mascot for meaning at work. An avatar for giving a shit. And right now, many of you and your people are desperately in need of some puffin energy.

Between things

We've noticed a lot of people in our life are putting things down. Quitting jobs. Rolling off of the volunteer board. Selling the company. Reducing their hours. Have you seen this?

Some of them are the people who can afford to. Who are able to describe themselves as, "between things." Or, "thinking through some options." Without their friends and family worrying how they're gonna make rent.

But some of them aren't. Some of them are people where the act of walking away carries risk. Risk that it might be a huge mistake. That they're giving up stability and security they really need, particularly during all of this. And they're doing it anyway.

They're doing it because you can't fake meaning. Because every job has some bullshit and that's a thing grown-ups understand, but the bullshit is supposed to be in service of something. Ideally, say, work that you're proud of, whose impact matters to you, and which allows you to live a life you enjoy. It's not that every minute of every day has to be a Fuck Yeah — that's not a realistic expectation. It's that the Fuck Yeah puffin should not sit in a corner, sunbleached and collecting dust. While you try not to look like you've been crying between zoom calls.

That's not actually too much to ask.

You aren't out of fucks

We usually try to frame things up here in terms of how to hold space for your team, but today we need to talk to you as individual humans.

So, individual humans: It's okay to be tired. It's understandable to be so tired from the last three years that you have zero energy to even go looking for the puffin. You're allowed to feel your feelings, there is no timeline to grief.

But we also know that some of you humans really do miss your Fuck Yeah. And are wondering when you'll find it again. Or whether you'll ever find it again. Or whether you're just out of fucks to give.

You aren't.

The paradox of brains, though, is that we often get our own causality backwards. We think that we need to be in a good writing space in order to write. That we need to be in a running mood to run. That there's a bunch of preparation we have to do before we can start to really think about what changes to make to bring back our Fuck Yeah.

In our experience, it's usually the reverse. Writing is what gets you into a writing headspace. Going running when you aren't in the mood is usually the right call.

And change usually precedes self-discovery and motivation. Change may be an outcome of the process, too. But it's always, always an input.

So. We can't tell you where your Fuck Yeah puffin is hiding. It might well be in the work right in front of you, once you shake off the dust. Or you may be on the precipice of a complete transformation. It's surprisingly hard to tell which is which, in the early stages.

What we can say, though, is that objects at rest tend to stay at rest. You don't have to quit your job or move to a new city or dye your hair if that's not the thing for you. But if you can't see your puffin from where you're sitting right now, this is an invitation to get yourself into motion. Change something. Change anything.

It's been a bit of a rough stretch, so please understand that we mean this as the gentlest possible kick in the ass.

- Melissa and Johnathan