You don’t have to turn everything into growth

Every now and then, I finish a coaching session and wonder whether I actually did enough.

Sometimes we have sessions where nothing was particularly troubling to the leader. There wasn’t a difficult decision to work through, or a relationship that needed repairing. We didn’t uncover some profound insight or end with “three things” the person needed to do differently.

We just talked.

But as a service provider who actively reflects on the quality of my services, these kinds of sessions can give me pause at times, wondering whether I gave enough value to my client.

Now, I’ve been coaching leaders long enough to know that not every conversation needs to produce a breakthrough. And in the span of working with many of my clients who often renew over years, even they would say they don’t want to feel like every time we meet there has to be some problem to find in order to fix.

So why is it that I would keep believing there had to be some area for self-improvement and personal growth for me in these moments?

Lately, I’ve begun wondering whether that belief has little to do with the coaching work at all, because I’ve been noticing versions of it elsewhere. Maybe you can relate:

Many of us take vacations to relax, but over-schedule activities out of fear that we’re not making the most of our limited time away from work.

We may go outside after a long day and take a leisurely walk, but then evaluate ourselves by whether we hit a certain step count.

We might pick up a hobby because it sounds interesting, then see someone on social media making money from the same thing and wonder: Should I work harder at this and make it a side hustle? 

My mother-in-law took up beading 15 years ago after retiring. She is amazing at it now and gives them out as one-of-a kind gifts. People constantly ask her why she doesn’t sell her pieces. She says, “no way, that’s when it stops being fun.”

For many of us, even rest has become something to optimize: sleep this many hours, hit a sleep score on an app and wake up recovered enough to perform and produce.

Of course, I’m all for learning and practice as tools for improvement. We should exercise to become healthier, read to become smarter, and have difficult conversations so our relationships get better.

But somewhere along the way, growth can stop being something we intrinsically want, and start becoming something we believe we require just to exist. We start to believe every experience has to produce something in order to justify the time we spent having it.

For ambitious people, self-improvement can feel inherently virtuous.

It signals that we’re still striving, advancing and becoming. But sometimes continuous improvement is driven by an underlying discomfort with standing still. And in that sense, it’s motivated by fear, not fulfillment.

I felt this recently when I had several days with nothing at all required of me.

I had planned a week off to travel with my wife and daughter to visit relatives overseas, when our plans changed and I had to stay home to look after my older dog.

With my coaching sessions already rescheduled, I was looking forward to having a few days off in a quiet home.

Initially, I thought of all the things I could do that I never made time for: read some books I’d been putting off, watch movies, go for long walks, call up some friends.

And yet it only took one day before I started worrying about whether I was making the best use of each day.

Somehow, I had managed to turn freedom into another job.

And just like that, a much-needed vacation became a project I was managing. I was forcing myself to show “progress” even though no one cared about that except me.

Within a few days I was far from enjoying the time off; instead I was frustrated with myself. Sometimes I’d be counting down the hours, reminding myself that I still had “X” amount of time off, while somehow being unable to enjoy the activities I had decided to do.

I took an experience that might have been allowed simply to exist and gave it a performance review.

Reflecting on that week, I’ve started thinking differently about these moments of self-inflicted obligation to perform or produce.

Maybe some experiences aren’t designed for our growth at all. Perhaps they’re designed for no more than our grateful, full-hearted participation.

I think about the phone conversations I have with a friend (who isn’t a client), so we’re not “on the clock” or under pressure to lock in on a topic. The conversation goes nowhere and somewhere at the same time. There’s no agenda, no airs and just laughter and comfort.

I think about playing chess with my daughter, where I’m not interested in winning or analysis. I just love watching how her brain works.

And I think about some of my favorite music I listen to, where there’s nothing to do but enjoy, reminisce, and savor.

We don’t ask ourselves what these experiences “produced” because we know that getting results isn’t the point. We were just there to have the experience.

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on growth. I still want to become better at things, and I still have the ambition to do more in my career.

But I’m realizing that I can be a pretty harsh critic of myself about things that were never meant to be evaluated in the first place.

So perhaps a book you read doesn’t have to make you smarter, and a hobby doesn’t have to become a skill or a business. Or a conversation at work doesn’t have to be about “selling” or influencing them around something, but rather just noticing the other person for who they are at that moment in time.

And yes, sometimes a coaching session doesn’t need an action plan if that’s not where the conversation leads.

The signs of our success in life don’t always have to be a measurement of “exceeds,” “meets,” or “misses” expectations. Over the limited days we have in life, some moments should justify themselves simply by being experienced.

I believe this is one of the thresholds we cross: realizing that not everything in our lives has to be an investment in who we are becoming. Some things are allowed to matter simply because we were there for them.

The threshold question

Where in your life have you become so focused on getting something from the experience that you’ve forgotten to simply have it?

Until next week,

Nihar

Nihar Chhaya coaches senior leaders on navigating the transitions that come with business, leadership and personal success. 

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