Preposition

It’s a bit like the grammar school textbook instruction on diagramming a sentence, the nearly extinct dissection of subject and predicate into their individual components; the idea we’ll somehow construct better sentences if we can visualize how each part functions. Except we are diagramming me, attempting to put our fingers on the precise descriptors explaining what makes me who I am, that certain je ne sais quoi I bring to my work, what I do differentiating me from the pack.

 

Of course there’s the discomfort creeping in with the thought of proclaiming my unique talents.  If I were a megalomaniac I’m certain this wouldn’t be an issue, but as I work on what I might say, I’m discovering the real problem is the lack of clarity in my message. I know what I do well, but I don’t always recognize what it is I do well that no one else is doing. And I’m struggling to pipe up in my voice, as opposed to droning in the one sounding like everyone else.

My first draft is loaded with dry corporate speak, a litany of metrics and statistics, the familiar markers of success in my industry, an inhuman spouting of recent accomplishments. The only cue I give my reader to distinguish my list from that of any other is my photograph at the top of the page. We’re a world focused on results.  We bring in new clients, attract top talent, grow our businesses, we make money for our companies. But the numbers and associated clichéd buzzwords don’t tell the story. They translate into finite, static snapshots in time, incapable of doing justice to, nor honoring, the living, breathing human beings producing them.

Sure, the numbers are there to talk about what’s achieved, but along with them is the need to somehow impart how it’s achieved. There’s a latent repeatable process I’ve never uncovered nor unpacked; it’s a secret recipe honed over time, applied in all walks of my life.  A conglomeration of parts of speech buried in the sentence that is me, begging to be called out individually and studied in their own right if I’m ever to tell a compelling story.

We’re all a bit myopic about ourselves.  We tend to think what we do isn’t so special, surely others use our technique, look at issues from a similar vantage point, draw comparable conclusions, or inspire the same ideas.  We often need to seek out our colleagues and loved ones to show us how we’re different and point out where we need to place the “extra” in front of “ordinary”.

And so he and I draw my diagram, consulting the dictionary and thesaurus, searching for words I can comfortably put in my mouth, swirl around and share back with the world in a voice that rings true. Even as my story begins to take shape, I’m still tempted to stay within the safe bounds of the vernacular of my industry. I’m fearful my words will be too different, too human for the staunch world of business. But I need them to be.  I’m connecting my dots, deconstructing myself for understanding, allowing for a richer depiction of how it is I do what I do, over and over again, for winning results.  It’s a story no one else can tell.