The magpie factor
Why all creatives should embrace their inner curiosity
My oldest, best friend (hi, Av) called me worldly last week. Well, that took me aback. I’ve never thought of myself that way, so I’ve been reflecting (okay, sitting with a huge mug of tea, staring at the rain) on what that means.
I reckon it means I’m a magpie.
Terrible photo - sorry! This beauty calls by every morning to collect leftover cat food!
Being worldly doesn’t manifest itself as being wise, well-travelled, or having street cred in my case. It’s that I can’t resist shiny things, or unfamiliar things that lure me closer because I don’t understand them.
Growing up, being constantly distracted got me into trouble (yes, I was the kid who wrote poems about raindrops and spaceships in the maths lessons). But it also meant I was the kid who joined every club, did extra homework, and won prizes for ridiculously detailed projects (have I ever mentioned the working model of the beheading of Anne Boleyn?)
Entering adulthood, and that tricky business of earning a living, it gave me a lot of confusion. I didn’t realise that not everyone was fascinated by the world in the same way I was. My first office job as a copywriter in a dating agency (don’t ask) ended after six weeks. I was too ‘distracted’ for the liking of the boss. Let’s reframe that: I was bored. My brain was leaping around looking for interesting things to say about dull people (sorry, but they were - mainly men in their seventies looking for girls in their twenties – yes, ick). Instead of giving me more stimulating work because I was racing through what was in my in-tray or offering me challenges so that I could develop new skills, he got rid of me. Now, in his shoes, I may well have done the same thing. I was annoying, fidgety, cheeky. Who’d want me around?
Seems like quite a few people did.
Standing in the Job Centre (ah, the good old days), one of the clerks approached me to ask what I was looking for. An hour later, I was being interviewed for a job at the Job Centre itself (still makes me chuckle). That led to a ten-year career as a civil servant, where I was both welcomed and rejected because of my magpie nature. So many of my bosses could see my potential but so few of them knew how to harness it. I could churn through tasks at a rate of knots, synthesise vast quantities of written and spoken information and turn it into briefings, ask awkward questions that got to the bottom of problems, come up with off-the-wall ideas that were always dismissed yet somehow found their way to the top of the pile when someone else (always a man) suggested them, and spot connections that other people missed. But I couldn’t stay on task for long and I frequently left things unfinished when something new caught my eye.
Like I said, I was annoying.
Now, dear reader, you’ll probably be a few steps ahead of me. Life as a civil servant was not going to end well, was it? I just didn’t have what they wanted even though I’d been chosen for a fast-track leadership programme, promoted unexpectedly, and often contacted by previous bosses to return to their team. I tried to be what they needed but, in one of many ‘difficult conversations’ with a jaded senior manager, I was told, “You’re just too eccentric to ever be a successful leader”.
I wear that statement as a badge of honour to this day.
But it did make me reconsider my career trajectory (fancy word I added to my vocabulary when I was learning about space travel). If they didn’t want a magpie, I’d either need to clip my own wings or flutter away.
I flapped and became a teacher.
That may not seem like an obvious choice but I was convinced I’d be able to follow my passions of reading, writing, and research if I embarked on a career that encouraged magpies. I was sort of right. Problem was, as soon as you’re a good teacher, some bright spark promotes you to become a manager… and I ended up as a Vice Principal before I’d really taken the time to notice what was happening.
Whilst this obviously proved the chap in a thin, grey suit back in Whitehall somewhat wrong, it still wasn’t going to end well. I clearly did have something useful to offer as a leader, but it wasn’t making me happy. The urge to write and to do creative things kept overwhelming me like the waves of a fierce tide that only comes in.
I was drowning in conformity.
But I had to eat and feed the cats, so I didn’t have the option of just striking out for the sandy shores of creativity. This magpie needed a sturdy nest to collect the shiny things and keep them safe.
Weirdly, it was consultancy.
Becoming a consultant suddenly freed up my creativity. It gave me control over my time so that I could write in the margins, and it allowed me to use the skills and expertise I had gathered along the way to generate ideas that genuinely helped others (something that feels particularly good in this messed up world). Honestly, it was liberating. And I was good at it. My magpie tendencies meant that I could read things, hear things, see things, sift things, synthesise things and bring them all to the consultancy party.
Being a magpie was paying off but (you knew there’d be a but) I still wasn’t filling my nest with the most exotic and unusual trinkets. My nest was brimming with practical, useful things. Stuff that made me a great consultant and trainer, not stuff that satiated my curiosity.
Time to empty that nest to make room for being a writer.
But the cats still needed feeding. I couldn’t simply tip out my life and pursue creativity in glorious isolation. The treasures I’d gathered around me became the currency to pay for my future. Oh, and I still wanted new shiny things to inspire that future.
That nest needed a radical redesign.
Taking what I’d gathered along the way, I started writing about my passions, my interests, my expertise. I became ‘worldly’ by viewing my world from the comfort of my nest, lined with trinkets and with an extension under construction, ready to receive more precious gifts.
The extension was the most important part of the new design for my nest and it came in the form of creative collaborations. Sometimes that was as part of an anthology, sometimes a writing partnership. I sang in choirs, I joined groups of poets, I joined a gym. All of these activities brought me together with people who had stories to tell.
I struck gold.
My inner magpie had finally found an endless seam of riches: the stories of the people around me. This is what has made me truly worldly. I’ve learned from hearing about the lives of others, letting people talk, enjoying their company (even though I’m an introvert who is craving another lockdown – sorry!), and relentlessly swooping down on the strange objects glittering in amongst the ordinary stuff of life. Being worldly is all about not knowing, feeling uncomfortable, being hungry to learn.
That, I understand.
That sort of worldly I accept readily.
Thanks, Av, for being part of that world and for nudging me to reflect.
Anyone else out there a magpie?
