During a long drive to an event, a colleague confessed to me that although he'd been working with our group for a number of years, he still didn't feel as if he belonged. All the members were basically friendly, yet there seemed to be an impenetrable bond between longtime members that made it difficult for new people to feel included. His words struck a chord with me. I had been working with this group for nearly a decade and had similar experiences.
As we discussed what we might do about this, I remembered something I'd read during the past week. I'd picked up an interesting book from the shelving cart at the library
Pronoia is the Antidote to Paranoia: How the Universe is Conspiring to Shower You With Blessings
by Rob Breszny. The title sounded intriguing so I took it home.
The book is packed with ways to turn mundane life into a magical journey. The idea that jumped out at me is one Breszny calls "The Secret Job Title." He invites each reader to choose a special contribution to bring to the job and carry it out each day. Our official job titles - Sales Associate, Receptionist, Teacher - are conferred upon us by our employers. Secret job titles - Listener, Healer, Energizer, Court Jester - are totally up to us. Choosing a value to embody or service to provide breathes new life into tired tasks. And the secrecy element adds a subversive thrill; your fire-breathing dragon of a coworker or manager doesn't know that there's a Peacemaker working behind the scenes to put out fires.
In the car, I suddenly had one of those rare synchronistic moments when it all came together. In this group, in a committee I'd been co-chairing and at my son's school I'd noticed how cliquish behavior was preventing members from doing their best work, driving new members away and generating bad feelings all around. I'd seen it happen in PTA committees, volunteer efforts, church choirs, book groups and at work. Over the past year "Cliques v. Inclusion" had become a constant theme.
My own secret job title popped out in front of me, wrapped, tied with a bow and ready to go: Inclusion Specialist.
I wrote out a job description. It included helping newcomers to any group of which I was a member feel welcome by soliciting their input and showing them the ropes. Where exclusion seemed accidental, I could gently prod the excluders towards widening the circle. When I suspected that the big chill was intentional, I'd challenge the behavior in as non-threatening a manner as possible. And if full inclusion was being hampered by the existence of a tight inner circle, I could create an alternative for the outsiders.
Being an Inclusion Specialist hasn't eliminated all the problems involved in working with groups, and having a secret job hasn't miraculously zapped occasional boredom. However, it has given me a sense of purpose I can take to any activity.
Having a secret mission is especially empowering during the dark times we all go through. Chronic discouragement from working in a disheartening environment can turn a creative mind into a dismal echo chamber that runs endless tape loops: "No one appreciates me...why do I bother...things'll never change." Having a special purpose helps us take our focus off ourselves, gets us out of our own heads and into a place where we can make a difference.
An acquaintance who has been looking for work for nearly a year found out that when he decided to act as an Encourager for his fellow job hunters at the state employment office, his own situation changed. He feels better about himself and apparently this comes across to employers. This week he's had a second interview at a place he admires.
Having a secret job or mission doesn't cost a thing. It doesn't require extra training, meetings, software upgrades, a new image or PR campaigns. Best of all, secret missions are portable. We can take them anywhere and in doing so, we transform not only our world but ourselves.