Category: Writing

# What is the value of specialism and generalism?

I work in the telco industry, where deep expertise is the norm. Folks have spent decades in the field (both literally & figuratively), and have earned the knowledge through hard yards (again both literally & figuratively). This deep expertise – or specialisation – is invaluable, when dealing with identifying the problems across the continent. The economics of the industry have driven a lot of the deep expertise out, presumably replaced by software or intelligent automation, but automation does not work well with previously unseen problems. The march of technology doesn’t mean that all insights, particularly tacit knowledge, is automated. This puts a high premium on the people with these skills, who are also heading towards the end of their careers, and lives.

Specialism isn’t all good either. Because the language and jargon is almost indecipherable, few of the non-technologists care to put in the effort required to understand it (not enough pay-off, too hard, squillions of reasons). The specialists tend to become siloed operators, rarely understanding the specialists in other fields & vice versa. There is a lack of common knowledge, or as my philosophy major colleague says “incommensurability”. Very quickly, it turns into a us-vs-them mentality, each viewing the other with skepticism.

I expect that generalists help bridge this gap to some extent. They are often given the titles of “general managers” with the authority seemingly vested in the title to connect various specialities. However, over the last decade or so, I’m noticing a trend of the GM’s actually being specialists with a formal generalist title. The silos get more entrenched. Communication & translation across domains is skill incredibly hard.

The few generalists I do see are worth their weight in gold. They make the boundaries between domains porous. They see overlaps between domains, and become the default translators. Specialists trust them enough to share some of their expertise, tacit and explicit, leading to better value creation. It is also very rare to find specialists in a highly technical industry, which is why I say they are worth their weight in gold.

 

# What is a generalist?

A jack of many trades. Knows enough of a subject and can recognise where it is applicable, and the principles under which it can be applied. Not an authority on it though.

Widely read. Has mental models or heuristics of the world. Can articulate the models with some level of competence.

Knows enough people who know more about the subject. May or may not have direct access to those specialists.

Breadth of knowledge & experience.

Self-confident, and able to hold one’s own. Not afraid to say “I don’t know the details”.

Ambitious, perhaps?

# What is a specialist?

 

# What do you want your legacy to be?

Answering that specific question is hard, because I have different ideas for different people. And so “I don’t know” is a normal response for me.

I take refuge in how Maya Angelou described it:

“You have no idea what your legacy will be because your legacy is every life you touch.”

Perhaps I should attempt to answer the question about legacy through the lens of different people I have in my life. My wife & kids. My closest friends. My extended circle of acquaintances.

My wife: Her best friend & supporter. Her lover. Her rock. Her refuge.

My kids: Their biggest supporter. A role model. A patient listener. A confidante.

My closest circle: An inveterate optimist. Compulsive sharer of insights & information. A patient listener. Connector.

Extended circle: Mentor. Enabler. Connector.

It was an interesting experience to read my colleagues recommendations on my professional social network. A focus on people. Strong communicator & storyteller. Genuine. Empathetic. How people see me depends on the context. And of course that’s self-evident. Where I am is who I am.

At a deep level, I want to have made a difference to a few people, to the community I am part of, to the world I live in.

# Have you ever withheld part of your repertoire in order to get your foot through the door?

More often than not. Maybe even always.

The most common rejection story in my job hunt:

I come across a role that asks for certain skills. I do my research about the company, the workplace, the people. I see possibilities in that role that I think everyone clearly sees, and particularly so with the skills that I have in addition to the ones that are asked for. I craft a resume for that role, write a cover letter that adds the color and the possibilities I see. I get a rejection letter (not even a call these days) that says the company has decided not to progress with my application. Progress (rarely) happens when I only craft a response specifically to that job role advertised.

More often than not, people I’ve worked previously recommend or introduce me to the people hiring. That progress far more and far quicker. In such instances, I am often prompted to explain more about the stuff that’s NOT on my resume. It’s no longer about getting a foot through the door, because I’m invited to bring my whole self in for a conversation, not to play footsie.

# Have you ever labelled yourself in order to be understood?

My professional qualifications are a way of signalling to the world that I’m an expert. They were gained due to much peer/social pressure. Growing up in a country where education was the ticket out of whatever station in life your parents were in.

The idea of careers was a binary choice between a doctor or an engineer. If that wasn’t the chosen path, you could feel the label of a societal failure, someone who brought shame to the family. I took a path less trodden and it did not go well with teachers in my life. One in particular burst out: “You’re a waste! What was the point of being a top student if you couldn’t take up medicine?”

Whether at college, or at work, I’ve been quick to adapt to whatever situation I found myself in, even if it made me uncomfortable. Few noticed my discomfort, and while they may have wondered why I was there, I was quickly treated as one of the tribe.

An example: I got a violin, and a handful of violin lessons when I was in year 3 or 4. I wasn’t quite sure why because I didn’t think of myself as so interested in music to learn it, although I did have several cassette tapes on endless replay. I remember just enough of reading sheet music at the time. Fast forward 5 years, I was nudged towards keyboard/church organ lessons. Again, I wasn’t keen enough to learn to play, while a couple of other older women who were taking lessons with me did. When I changed schools again in year 10, I noticed that the kids I hung out with were all ‘musicians’ – played at least an instrument. I learnt to play by osmosis, and got decent enough that I could play something during practice. They thought that I was a musician because I could keep rhythm, learn the tunes and chords quickly, and had better vocabulary than everyone else, so could pick up the lyrics to most songs. I labelled myself a musician at that time. It opened many other doors, teaching and performing with young kids at various competitions.

Similar episodes during my working career. In my first traineeship/job, having little experience on a computer before, I learnt how to assemble them from a client. I learned enough about hardware & software from that experience. I learned how to work on spreadsheets, and improve effectiveness and efficiency of the entire office. I was reasonably good at explaining what I was doing, & it gave me more opportunities and more confidence to take on tasks that none of the other office staff wanted to do. I hated the title they had “articled clerk” so I labelled myself “jack of all trades”, and I lived up to that label too.

When people ask me today what i do, I use one of the professional ones – accountant or finance guy, analyst or IT guy, or business engagement partner are most common. It may be a shortcut to explain what I can do – but it means I also sell myself short significantly. People who’ve worked me a while tell me so.

# Have you encountered difficulties describing what you do to other people?

There is hardly a day that goes by when someone asks me what I do. I’m still struggling to explain.

It depends. If I know the people or their background, I’m usually explaining what I do in language they understand. If I don’t know them, I don’t even try to explain what I do, opting instead to say “I work with technologists”.

If I use my formal title (Innovation partnerships), people often squint and ask me what that means. There are so many roles I play every day: confidante and listener, advisor, finance guy, coach, mentor, problem explainer, problem finder, analyst, translator, communicator, speech-writer, PPT creator, bearer of bad tidings (aka decliner), to name just a few. Its hard to explain it so I don’t even bother, instead choosing to joke about it and say “whatever needs to be done”. It’s an unsatisfactory answer, both for the inquirer and for me.

I’ve chosen to think of myself as a chameleon at work, adapting to whatever situation I find myself in. Sometimes it’s with senior executives, other times with folks involved with projects. I’m often talking to the people who actually do the work. In each case, I find it natural to simply say I’m here to listen and understand. I ask questions, replay my understanding, and iterate until I’m able to describe it to someone else in the simplest language I can.

# To which communities do you belong?

• • Work

    I’ve created multiple communities – for public speaking, for sharing knowledge, the internal TED talks, for musicians, for bookworms, for sharing dad jokes. I’m dragged into formal communities that I show up because it’s demanded of me. I’ve set up an informal graduate mentoring group that I absolutely enjoy nurturing.

  • Social

    I volunteered at the local radio station for a couple of years & just stepped out of. I help out at the community garden when I can. I’m in several WhatsApp groups that I’m a non-active participant. There’s a tiny social circle that I engage with when I can.

  • Professional

    I’ve got professional accounting qualifications & I continue to renew my memberships in two countries. It’s ironic that neither of them is useful but it provides a social status that apparently is important to cultivate!

  • Personal

    I’ve a personal Board of Directors made up of colleagues. I’ve an informal/intangible BoD that is my collection of books, blog subscriptions. Of late, I’ve begun reaching out to the authors directly, & conversing with them over the Internet. This intimate group of confidantes is the one I most engage with deliberately.

## How has multi-culturalism influenced your life & career?

Growing up in the rural south of the subcontinent, and moving around with my parents’ employment meant I was exposed to various cultures within the region. The subcontinent does not have a monolithic culture by any stretch of the imagination, a fact that became apparent only after I first moved overseas. In fact, the number of cultures and subcultures – as defined by region, religion, food, dress, festivals, language etc changes every couple of hundred kms in any direction of travel. I didn’t think too much of it of course at the time. It seemed natural to me that I picked up whatever language was dominant in the area. Religions didn’t mean anything. Food was a delicacy, and never could get enough of it. That other people lived differently to my own catholic background and everything it entailed was of little import. I remember there being a strong sense of community everywhere we moved.

Moving overseas, I was surprised by the extreme change in living conditions, first of all. The Middle East is a harsh environment, both figuratively and literally. I discovered how living conditions for most people from the subcontinent, or Asia in general, was worse off than it was back home. A friend put me up at his place he shared with his brother & his family. Having 5 people living in a 1BR apartment for the first month of my life there was a fascinating learning experience. I met several people I had seen as a child, who’s wives showed of their wealth in that little village, and whose living conditions were far worse than the one I had left behind. There’s plenty written about the squalor of the Middle East, a part of the world that most tourists do not ever get to see.

I also surprised the white men who employed me – they apparently did not expect my English to be as it was. I could give back as well as I got, a lifetime of wit & humor picked up from Readers’ Digest in my arsenal. The overt & covert racism I dealt with, and the abuse I saw inflicted on those who weren’t as fortunate as I was, scarred both my view of the “civilised white” I so often read about, and the way I still think about the Middle East. There were multiple incidents & experiences there that showed both the best and worst of humanity.

The best of humanity there persuaded me to move to Australia. It was not an easy move, not was it easy to find work. But as the book says, where you go, there you are. I adapted as I’ve done throughout my life to new environments, making acquaintances through the community, and then through work. Many of those acquaintances are no longer so, the commonality of our early struggles forgotten, & little else to share. The choice of living away from vicinities of common cultures, the not knowing anyone in our new chosen neighbourhood, and having to commute 2.5 hours a day meant I made many more new acquaintances. Several of those acquaintances are, now a decade later, still good friends.

My work life has changed dramatically too. My academic credentials and social standing meant little when I found my current tribe. That I not just could, but did significantly fill a huge gap in the team’s capabilities has given me far greater credibility. My acknowledgement, sometimes hilariously, that I did not understand the local culture or slang, and genuine curiosity to learn more has made me more friends through work than ever before in my career.

# Is there a common denominator in the career choices you have made during your life?

Only in hindsight.

When I’ve changed roles across companies or continents, it has been a matter of luck. When I’ve changed roles within an organisation, it has always been to work for people I wanted to learn from, perhaps even admired from afar.

My work experiences – I won’t call it a career – have been whatever has caught my attention or fancy. Working in finance seemed to have created certain impressions of my skills. I’ve always blown those presumptions away, doing things that couldn’t have been further removed from the job I was hired to do, and doing them well.

I’ve gravitated towards meaningful roles, and when they weren’t so, found augmenting tasks in those roles that gave me a sense of meaning.

I’ve found ways to create and nurture communities with common interests.

I’ve avoided promotions deliberately when I believed that I’d be trading my time and strengths and/or meaning away for marginal dollar benefit. Weirdly, I’ve also beaten myself up when I avoided promotions.

I’ve found vicarious pleasure from seeing the folks I’ve had the privilege of mentoring soar in their careers.