Perfect, or not at all

You may have noticed that this newsletter isn’t as perfectly timed as it used to be. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to write about, on the contrary. The last few months have been incredibly busy, in the best way possible. After travelling internationally, bridging parallel lines to connect with authors and thinkers I’ve admired from a distance, recording podcasts and training (with) coach developers, I’ve almost had to much to think about. If anything, I didn’t want to pull myself out of those moments, because they were all so captivating.

But through it all, there has been one thought scratching away at the back of my mind. An undercurrent that I can feel no matter where I am or what I’m doing, so I wanted to bring it into the light this month.

Perfect, or not at all.

A timely sentiment, given that by some standards, this newsletter is “late”. But is it, really? What would have been the benefit of trying to cam something in to an arbitrary deadline, especially before a wholesome weekend of camping where I could not have given this work any thought. I considered it, but then I reflected on why I write these newsletters - and it’s not for the heartwarming messages I sometimes receive about my ability to convey complex messages in simple terms. I write because I have something to write about, threads that I am weaving, things that unfold in my everyday life that I am sure you can relate to, but I am not limited by whether or not you do. So yes, this newsletter is late. But that’s the point. What I write, why I write - those are unchanged. And I’m finally learning to let go of that expectation and dread of a fake deadline, and just write.

I will speak about this sentiment of ‘perfect or not at all’ in a sporting and coaching context here but I have definitely felt it in many other spaces, and I'm sure you have too.

We always appreciate beautifully imperfect photos more anywayPhoto by Maico Amorim on Unsplash

I have been involved in competitive sport for as long as I can remember. I actually recently started keeping a list of all the sports I have played and I am up to 31. Now of course this ranges from pick up games in backyards and local basketball courts and walls with tennis nets painted on them to national and international levels of sports that people probably haven't even heard of. There is something about this competitive element that draws me in, that convinces me to go even though I find exercising difficult. I've always struggled with being active but I've never struggled to go to training, and I find this interaction so fascinating. It is likely the reason why I thrive in coaching environments within sporting teams because I know what that those moments can mean to some people, that it is the only way they get out of the house, that they feel capable, strong and part of something bigger than themselves. Funnily enough that ticks off all of the components of self-determination theory, and I love how easily something like that can be woven into sport when you stop to think about it.

But it is very difficult to be involved in sport unless you are already good at it and I find this reinforced in so many ways that people rarely notice. Even social formats of sports that are designed for participants, the entry-level can be so high and so traditional that we forget the opportunity to play has not been afforded to everyone equally. Even more so I have found people apologising to me lately for their lack of cricket knowledge, expertise and skill like somehow their inability to play the game or in accessibility to the game is somehow their fault and that should weigh on what they're about to say next for the record it doesn't it never should and I will never take it into consideration when you make an observation or correspond with me.

This expectation that you should already be able to do something that you have never done before and if you can't then it's not worth trying has probably stifled the dreams and enjoyment of millions of people and we don't even notice it's there sometimes. It has become so ingrained in the way that we interact with the world. These are not barriers anymore but beliefs - they are rooted in the way that we see ourselves, that we perceive sport, and we write ourselves off before we even give ourselves the chance.

I can feel it creeping in when I start to design programs. I want them to be perfect but only in the sense that its perfectly designed for every single person that might be involved. I need to balance that desire with the ability to plan, to make sure we have enough in the calendar to justify that we are doing our jobs, to hold ourselves accountable to goals and strategic outcomes that we need to help grow the game.

I find the intersection of those things really difficult, because there's absolutely no guarantee that I can get a number of people in a room. I don't know them! I want to, but interactions have never really been at an interpersonal level and our systems reflect that. I see the same hesitance to exploring coaching as we do when trying to play a new sport for the first time. If you do get over that self-imposed fence of signing up and just being terrible at something to begin with and excepting that as part of the process, there is absolutely no guarantee that everybody else will. I recently wrote about my experience and I can see why nobody would want to play a new sport as an adult under those circumstances - but thankfully I'm too bullish to stop.

I guess this is why it is easier to gravitate towards ways of working and interacting with others that maintain certainty and control. If it at least looks like everything is being handled well, then maybe we can pretend that it is. If we are well-behaved then surely there are no distractions to learning in those environments. But I would argue that there is no learning to be had in sterile, decontextualised spaces.

We can put in as many coaching courses as we want in a pretty calendar and send it off into the ether and hope that someone along the way sees that and thinks - wow that’s for me! Wouldn’t it be nice to get some help about the things I don’t know about coaching instead of white-knuckling the whole season and *only* “doing your best”, even when that may be causing harm, but you’d never know because that reflection takes a level of self-awareness that we’ve left behind.. as you can see, I’m not passionate about this at all.

I’m always cautious in discussions about the role of accreditation, certification, qualification and minimum standards. I think it’s a treacherous road to be walking down, because we are already “asking too much of people”. Asking for too much of their time, their effort, their care and concern. But can it ever really be too much when we’re talking about the safety of a child? When a coach might have more impact in a year than some others have in a lifetime? That we only have 3 years to help people feel competent in an (almost over) technical sporting endeavour before they’re lost from the game, or more importantly, lost from a healthy, active lifestyle?

Even though these are mainly rhetorical questions, they do haunt my thoughts regularly. As someone who can shape the strategic direction of coaching in one of the biggest national participation sports, it’s fascinating to consider how to use this power well - how to inspire others to step into the domain of learning again, out of curiosity and not compliance. If we hold onto certainty too tightly, I don’t think we can find progress, only the echoes of the things we’ve done before, the shadows of past practices that melt into the foreground out of habit, not intention.

What if I told you that perfect doesn't exist and certainty is a myth?

What if the only objective is not perfection, but persistence?

What if learning and development for coaches is something that can be achieved by showing up authentically, paying attention to those that we interact with, and being willing to shift what we do in response to the needs of others, and ourselves?

Maybe there is hope, but it’s not in perfection.

Let’s do it anyway.