Unfair criticism

The conference speaker asked: ‘Why are the diaries, the personal calendars, of leaders so overcrowded?’ His answer: ‘When you’re constantly criticised, opposed or thwarted, the one thing that props up your self-esteem is your packed calendar because it proves you’re needed’. His message: we use busy-ness to counter criticism.

The pastor of a flourishing church told me people often talked about his harmonious, committed, and loving congregation, and how good it must be to lead that church. ‘If only that was true,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘The reality is that when a church is growing, there’s also a pastor who is hurting.’ In other words, his church wasn’t so ‘harmonious’ he didn’t have critics.

Criticism has been around for as long as people have been around. Probably one early cave dweller criticised the cooking smells from the neighbour’s cave. And the next door cave dweller criticised the rowdy children he heard squabbling through the stone wall. Criticism has always been a fact of life.

But if criticism is inevitable, there can be only one of three responses:

  1. Stop it. That’s a nice idea, and we may be able to silence specific criticisms or super-critical people. But new critics and criticisms will always emerge.
  2. Soften it. Maybe we can improve someone’s situation. Or we accept their comments and we change. But neither of those can happen when the criticism is unfair.
  3. Survive it. Usually all we can do is live with criticism. We can’t resolve every person’s issues, gripes, or preferences. We can’t satisfy everyone’s preferences or be the leader each critic would like us to be. Either we get out or we get on.

Many times I wanted to ‘get out’. I was the pastor of a lively and engaged congregation of people with great faith and gifts. They were good folk but with strong opinions about what the church should be doing. I encouraged them to share their ideas, and they didn’t hold back. ‘More evangelism’ ‘More social care in the community’ ‘More emphasis on young people’ ‘More attention on older people’ ‘More time for worship’ ‘Less time for sermons’ ‘More comfortable pews’ ‘Less money spent on the church building’. And the inevitable, ‘Better toilets’.

People had every right to express their ideas, grumbles and views. What I hadn’t expected was that they’d direct them all at me. They thought the senior pastor was responsible for everything, so they bombarded me with innumerable visions and grievances. They assumed their pastor would listen, agree, and bring about change. Well, I could listen, but I couldn’t always agree. Nor did I have the power to effect every change someone wanted. Some proposals were simply bad. Others could go ahead only by tearing up someone else’s wish list. So, not everyone got what they wanted and I got the blame.

That happens in every kind of organisation. A constant stream of disappointed or disapproving people guarantees a constant stream of criticism. It’s unfair to pile their angst and anger on leaders, but it happens. And it wears leaders down.

It wore me down. I remember joking that I knew work was going better when I considered resigning only three times a day. It used to be ten. Except that wasn’t really a joke. When your whole purpose is to serve people, it’s hard to listen to constant criticism and not be discouraged.

How did I deal with that? Honestly, not always very well. Somehow the weight of a criticism is heavier than the weight of a thank-you.

But Alison, my wife, would share wise words with me. ‘Remember,’ she’d say, ‘if you resign you don’t just leave your critics behind, you also leave the far greater number who deeply appreciate what you do and are helped by it’. Those words – spoken many times – kept me going.

Leaders can’t stop criticism happening. But criticism – especially unfair criticism – is survivable. Here are five measures that have helped me.

One  As well as assessing a criticism, consider who it’s coming from

I always thought carefully about a problem or criticism brought to me. Rejecting all complaints would imply the organisation was perfect and there couldn’t be any faults.

But I learned to think carefully about who was raising the complaint, and especially about ‘frequent flyer’ complainers.

I encountered at least five categories of constant complainers and critics.

  • Those who could never be pleased. Two church members lived together, and anytime I visited or met them they had fresh complaints about the direction the church was going and how I went about my ministry. They told me the church was at its best 55 years earlier which, it turned out, was when they joined. Changes since then were always bad.
  • Those who thought their way was the only right way. Some colleagues knew exactly how the organisation’s finances should be presented, or the publicity should be done, or which new staff positions should be created – which was remarkable since they had no qualifications in financial management, or marketing, or human resources. But lack of experience or credentials never hindered them. They believed passionately in their own opinions, and never hesitated to express them.
  • Those with a bottomless pit of opinions. Some people can think of ten ways to make a simple task complicated. They share every one of those ideas, causing confusion and slowing progress. These people aren’t arrogant or bad. It’s just that their inventive minds are in constant overdrive, and their barrage of suggestions creates cluttered thinking.
  • Those who think an opposing view should always be considered. The leaders meeting would reach a consensus, ready to vote, and then Martin would propose an alternative course of action. Martin would have said nothing earlier, but at the last moment present his different view. When working with volunteers, you can’t tell someone you won’t listen to their idea. So, back we’d go through the issue, reconsidering everything from Martin’s point of view. We’d finish back with the original proposal, I’d put it to the vote, and everyone would vote for it, including Martin. After the meeting I’d ask him why he’d brought out his alternative idea so late on, and why he’d then supported the initial proposal. His answer: ‘Well, I didn’t believe in the alternative, but I thought we should discuss it’. I kept my cool, but Martin continued making late interventions, which was infuriating for everyone. He and I talked. In Martin’s mind he wasn’t criticising, just ensuring a more complete discussion took place. I told him that was fine, but he must bring forward his ideas early on, and never right at the end. Mostly that worked.
  • Those with an insatiable need for attention. Some people need to be noticed, especially by the person ‘at the top’. And one way to get noticed is to criticise, especially if you do it in a large meeting because then everyone’s attention is on you. There are remedies for an attention-seeking child to ensure they get healthy attention. I have yet to find the complete remedy for an attention-seeking adult. But over the years I did get increasingly firm with people like that to stop them stealing time and support from people with far greater needs than theirs.

I haven’t tried to give quick-fix answers for these constant critics because there aren’t any. However, here are two suggestions:

Recognise what’s motivating them. For example, identify who can never be pleased, or who simply wants attention. Knowing why people criticise changes how you respond.

Don’t be overly gentle. In church life some people think they can criticise as harshly as they like, and the pastor and other leaders will simply absorb their rudeness. Leaders shouldn’t. Let’s be clear: unjust and harsh criticism is wrong. It’s a sin. Even done once, it’s bad. Done repeatedly, it’s unacceptable. Identify unfair criticism for what it is, and exercise discipline as appropriate in your circumstances.

Two  To cope with unfair criticism you need good friends

Strong leaders suffer two disadvantages when it comes to criticism. One is that critics assume they have to be extra forceful to ‘get through’. Unless their words are loud and harsh, they suppose leaders won’t listen. Second, critics often assume their verbal blows bounce off a strong leader, as if leaders are immune to hurt. We are not immune. Sometimes I wanted to shout ‘I bleed too!’ Unjust criticism hurts short-term and long-term.

So, how do we survive? My number one answer is that we need good friends. And they are of two types.

First, you need encouragers, people who’ll reassure you that you’re a good person doing good things, or that your faultfinder is a known critic of almost everyone and everything. Earlier, in the never pleased category, I mentioned two ‘always-critical’ church members. Their criticising was well known, including by Will. He was a delightful older church member who’d been a leader and confidant of every minister for 50 years. Will called me, named the two awkward people, and asked: ‘Are these two getting you down? Are they being difficult about your work as pastor?’ I told him I was okay, but certainly nothing I did seemed to please them. ‘Well, don’t be discouraged,’ Will said. ‘The pair of them have complained about every pastor the church has ever had. One of your predecessors told me he could wallpaper his rooms with their letters of criticism. They are the problem, not you.’ If Will hadn’t been on the phone I’d have hugged him. His concern for me meant a lot, and his ‘wallpaper’ comment has helped many times since. We need encouragers like Will.

Second, we need loving friends who are also honest friends. Friends like that care so much they won’t only tell you what you want to hear, they’ll also tell you what you don’t want to hear. But they do it lovingly. We don’t always say or do the right things. And we can be blind to our mistakes. So sometimes people are upset with us for legitimate reasons. We need a friend loving and honest enough to tell us we were wrong. And we’ll listen because the only motive that friend has is to help us. My loving and honest friends saved me many times. Sometimes I didn’t like what they said, perhaps even argued back, but in the end I had enough wisdom to listen, apologise and change.

Three  Accept that criticism goes with the territory

I used to dream of the day all problems were solved and all critics silenced, because then I could forge ahead with the real work. That day never came, and never could come. Why never? One reason is that problems, and critics, are part of the work. The second reason is that we deal with people. I’ve kept a quote by Anatole France[1] on my desk for many years. It begins ‘He who undertakes to guide men must never lose sight of the fact that they are malicious monkeys…’ There’s humour there, but France is actually making a serious point. The human race is made up of flawed people (including us), who, alongside many virtues, have weaknesses, vices, eccentricities and problems. So it was, and is, and forever shall be. Therefore there will always be criticism, including unfair criticism.

Four  Even unfair criticism comes from people with good hearts

How do we react to unfair criticism? Argue back? Get angry? Dislike our critic? Those reactions are common because our instinct is to defend ourselves. But that just hardens attitudes. A soft response is usually the better response. There’s wisdom in the biblical command to bless and not curse those who persecute you, and, as far as it depends on you, to live at peace with everyone.[2] Even if we can’t bless our critics, let’s respect them. Most critics are sincere people, perhaps misguided in what they say, but they’re not our enemy.

Five  Ultimately you are your own judge

Only you know whether a criticism is fair or unfair. And only you can decide how to react. We tend to one of two responses: a) reject the criticism; or b) condemn ourselves for our failings. Each of those can lack wisdom. Dismissing criticism is a protective, emotional reaction. It’s understandable but means we learn nothing from the experience. Self-condemnation is also understandable, but it often goes too far and lasts too long.

Instead, be your own judge and be a kind judge. You may decide there’s no truth in someone’s criticism, so don’t let their opinion hold you back. Or you may realise there is some truth in what’s been said. You got something wrong. So, learn and change, and don’t condemn yourself. Being at fault is not being a failure. After all, did you think you were perfect? Hopefully not. Now, by recognising and learning from your error, you can be a better person than before.

There is no route through life that avoids unfair criticism. It happens. But it’s not awful, and not a reason to give up. Plenty are grateful for what you do. Never forget that.

[1] French poet, journalist and novelist, winner of the 1921 Nobel prize in Literature. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anatole_France

[2] Romans 12: 14, 18

Celebration of civility

I answered the knock at our front door. Two young men stood there. I didn’t know them, but I knew who and what they represented. The clues were the immaculate short haircuts, dark suits, document cases under arms and American accents. Mormon missionaries. (More properly, from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)

They didn’t get through their first sentence before I interrupted. I told them I didn’t want to hear what they had to say, because I knew who they were, and I thought the whole story nonsense about Joseph Smith[1] being directed by an angel to find buried golden plates with strange writing which he could translate into English, and which eventually became the Book of Mormon. For two minutes I poured out every criticism I knew of their church’s founding and beliefs.

Eventually I drew breath. The two men had stood silent and calmly while I ranted. Now, softly, one of them said: ‘Sir, I would never think to be so rude about your faith. Why do you feel the need to speak like that to us?’

I paused. The calmness with which he spoke took me aback. I realised how discourteous I’d been. I’d gone straight into attack mode. No politeness, no reasonableness, not even a ‘thank you but no thank you’ refusal of their message. Just hostility. I felt ashamed, apologised, and the three of us talked together in an almost friendly way for a few minutes before parting.

I have never done anything like that again. I’ve met many people since then with whom I’ve had profound disagreements, but, thankfully, stayed polite and respectful, as most of them have been too. There’s a lot to be said for civility.

But we live in a time when there’s not much civility around. Soon after we moved into our American home, I met our next-door neighbour. In his first sentence he told me his name and that he was pleased to meet me. In his second sentence he denounced the recently inaugurated President Obama in terms it would not be acceptable to record here. He didn’t know me, or anything about my beliefs, but that didn’t stop him unloading a ton of invective into that first conversation.

That’s not just American politics. The UK has the great tradition that its Prime Minister must answer questions every week to MPs in the House of Commons. Yes, it’s a great tradition, but it’s also embarrassing. Hostile questions are asked and hostile answers given. The sober and upright looking people who govern the country trade insults, and boo and jeer their opponents. Almost never does this verbal brawl yield anything productive.

We could say, ‘Well, that’s politics…’. That doesn’t make it acceptable. Besides, the civility deficit isn’t just in politics. My father spent his working life, other than war-time, working for the Post Office. For a short time he served customers who came to post office counters. He hated that job. Many customers were aggressive from the start, criticising the postal service, demanding immediate attention, never grateful for anything. My Dad moved to back-room administrative work to get away from the hostility. In Bangladesh I watched and listened as church leaders harangued each other in loud and extremely hostile terms. They stopped short of coming to blows only because others separated them. I know occasions from other countries where leaders didn’t stop short and had to be separated before police were called.

It shouldn’t be like that. And it doesn’t have to be.

I want to celebrate civility. Synonyms listed for civility include politeness, courtesy, respect, tact. Those are good things. Who wouldn’t want to live among people who are courteous and show respect? It’s not impossible.

Here are suggestions that would help us be people of civility.

Being careful with our attitudes and our language.
My first visit to America began in Mississippi, a state with such a notorious history of racism there’s a Wikipedia page with an A–Z kind of listing of slavery, riots, lynchings, Ku Klux clan crimes, and the like.[2] But I arrived in 1989, naïvely, thinking attitudes had all changed. Not all of them. As I browsed around a Christian bookshop, the manager whispered to me: ‘Have you noticed how many blacks there are around here?’ It wasn’t an innocent remark; he was disapproving. He’d have disapproved even more if he’d seen the couple who were holding hands as they walked through the shopping mall. Why? Because one was black and the other white.

Racism isn’t the only area where attitudes are the enemy of civility. I began to learn what misogyny really meant when I saw women disrespected in classrooms, and, quite recently, on a university forum to which I belong. A female student had disagreed with a male student, but rather than post a reasonable reply, the male student dismissed the female student’s argument because ‘after all, a woman wouldn’t understand…’ The forum overseer dealt with that remark, but it should never have been written.

These things are wholly reprehensible. All of us need to look deep into our hearts and root out discrimination and prejudice, no matter how minor. And call out the prejudiced opinions and words of others as offensive and unacceptable.

Unless attitudes and language change, we’ll never have civility.

Being willing not to win every issue
The seniors group at my golf club had the kind of ‘extraordinary general meeting’ that causes committees and members to resign. The issue was about changes in the status of the seniors group. I heard views on both sides during the weeks leading up to the meeting. Loud and angry opinions were generating a lot of heat but little light. The day came. Everyone was there. To my surprise the debate was calm. Opinions were certainly divided. Some strongly demanded change and some strongly defended the status quo. After an hour and half the vote was taken. The result: a two vote majority for no change. If just one ‘status quo’ vote had been cast for ‘change’, there would have been a tie. That would have given the chairman the casting vote, and he would have voted for ‘change’. But no casting vote happened because those who didn’t want change had won. The best thing is what happened next. There was no walk-out by those who’d lost. Instead there was acceptance without recriminations. Though nearly half held another opinion, no-one criticised their ‘opponents’, no-one plotted another vote, and no-one left the group. The outcome accepted, everyone got back to playing golf with friends, no matter which way they’d voted at the meeting.

We don’t all think alike. We have different opinions. It’s a reality of life that we don’t always get our own way. Some people can’t accept that. They’re so arrogant they think there’s only two options, ‘my way or the wrong way’. That results only in hostility and division. We will never be civil unless we’re willing not to win on every issue.

Realising that those with whom you disagree are not your enemies
Martin and Effie were a news-conscious couple, always keeping a close eye on current events, and making sure their sources of news were reasonably balanced. Then friends called round unexpectedly, were invited in, but there was trouble when they saw which news channel was on TV. Martin and Effie’s friends strongly disapproved, and made it very clear they wouldn’t stay unless that channel was changed or switched off. Of course the TV was turned off, but that incident was the beginning of the end for that friendship. For the visitors, the channel Martin and Effie watched on TV was decisive for relationships. Staying friends but ‘agreeing to disagree’ was not possible. They couldn’t associate with people who believed differently from them, who didn’t buy into the version of news which was their daily diet. The friendship died.

Maybe partisan TV channels or select social media groups are to blame, though that is probably simplistic. Whatever, it seems society is increasingly retreating into silos, gatherings of like-minded people where already-held beliefs are constantly reinforced. If you are not in their silo, you’re not their friend. Sadly you’re very possibly their enemy because your views threaten them and their group. Then it’s not just friendship which dies. It’s civility too.

To me that’s tragic. I was never brought up to believe that someone with another view about life should be my enemy. Sadly some of the finest Christians I know don’t think that way. I want to challenge those who see others as enemies with the clear message of Jesus: ‘Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you’ (Luke 6:27, repeated in v.35). That wasn’t a philosophical musing of Jesus, nor a gentle suggestion. It was a command. No matter how hostile someone is to you – in their actions or ideas – you don’t respond in kind. You don’t show antagonism. You don’t hate them. Rather, you show kindness, you show love.

When we’re ruled by our emotions or our dogma, we destroy others and do ourselves no favours either.

Recognising an obvious reason people disagree with you
My career was almost entirely in church and charity leadership, ranging from a small new congregation to a mission agency working in near 40 countries and drawing support from all over Britain. Since all major decisions needed broad support, getting the most important changes passed was never easy. My idea of the right strategic direction was often met by hesitancy or opposition. Initially I believed there were two reasons people wouldn’t follow my leadership. One was an overall resistance to change. The other was an unwillingness to let go of their own ideas. It was hard to be patient with either group, and occasionally conversations were less than civil. Then I realised there was a third explanation why people disagreed with me.

It’s remarkable how blind we can be to something we don’t like. We block out possibilities our pride or our stubbornness find unpalatable. The third reason people disagreed with me was because, sometimes, my ideas weren’t all that good. I’d been so sure their plans had little merit, and mine were exactly right, it seemed obvious they should fall in line behind my leadership. Thankfully I learned humility. Faced with opposition, I’d re-examine my proposals, get honest about their strengths and weaknesses, and find that often they were not nearly as good as I’d imagined. So much angst and so many disagreements could have been avoided if only I’d listened at least as much as I’d tried to convince.

Recognising that people may disagree because your ideas aren’t good is an antidote to argument and a catalyst for civility.

Understanding that being uncivil loses you more than you gain

Increasingly I see a prominent notice in many shops and businesses that their staff will not tolerate foul language or aggressive behaviour. Perhaps employers have realised they are legally required to provide a safe working environment for their employees. Perhaps staff have made it clear they’ll resign unless something is done about insults, inappropriate or offensive comments, and even threats.

Some of the most abused are workers in call centres. They can be on the receiving end of appalling tirades from customers who think their bullying will get the result they want. They’re wrong in at least two ways. First, staff can now terminate an abusive caller. Second, aggressive tactics are no way to get the best service. Ranting down the phone doesn’t motivate anyone to try their hardest on behalf of the rude, uncivil caller.

One of the lessons I learned as a young man about social relations is that most times the response you get mirrors the approach you make. If I was friendly and helpful, the person I was talking to would be friendly and helpful. People are happy to deal with someone who’s making their work easier and their day more pleasant. You can’t fake pleasantness. That’s easily spotted, and no-one responds well to it. But, being genuinely civil and cooperative gets a positive reaction. Being uncivil loses you far more than gain.

Being the person you believe you should be
Teenagers are sometimes told to ask themselves, ‘What would your mother think if she could see what you’re doing’. The only thing that question achieves, I think, is to make most teenagers determined to make sure their mothers never see what they’re doing.

But we can use a variation of the ‘what would your mother think?’ question. Imagine you were your work colleague, or your fellow student, or the checkout operator, or a family member – anyone who encounters you a lot. Then imagine what they think and feel about how you speak to them, or treat them, or show respect to them. Would they think you a person of civility, or consider you uncaring, unhelpful, unthoughtful?

If that challenge was taken up I suspect many of us would realise we could improve our attitudes, demeanour, words, actions. If we could imagine being someone we’d really admire, and then change to be like that, we’d not just be civil, we’d be someone others wanted to know.

So, are we being the people we believe we should be? Do we speak well, treat others well, seek the best for those we know? Some may think civility isn’t a big deal. But it is, and we should celebrate civility and make it a core part of our lives.

…

Extra note: my sincere apologies there’s been a gap in blog posting, caused by study pressures and less than ideal health. Thank you for your patience. I’m hoping to be writing more consistently from now on.

[1] For more on Joseph Smith, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Smith

[2] See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:History_of_racism_in_Mississippi

Life gets in the way

It’s one of these times again when the rest of life is holding me back from writing the next blog. I apologise for that. The delay before new content won’t be long.

Meanwhile, I looked at the list of blogs that have been written in the last 16 months, and picked out a few from the archives you may have missed.

The Tay Bridge disaster

The Tay Bridge disaster

Many liked this story when first written, but it’s also a blog piece that keeps being found now and read by new people. Perhaps it gets shared more than most. Some readers are engineers, but most will simply be interested in knowing how a major bridge over an estuary could suddenly collapse taking dozens to their death.

The Forth Bridge … beginnings

The Forth Bridge … beginnings

The three-part story of building the Forth Bridge – that is, the railway bridge over the Firth of Forth – has been one of the most widely read. My research took a lot of time, but that was pleasurable time because it was fascinating. The story is as much about personalities, ambition, genius, and determination as it is about engineering. But the engineering of the Forth Bridge is remarkable too, especially learning how work on the foundations was done literally under water. No diving suits. Just a seriously risky space with compressed air.

The second and third parts of the story can be found at:

The Forth Bridge… deceit, disaster and design

and

The Forth Bridge… built for the ages

Being true to your word (and suspicious of your car nav system)

Being true to your word (and suspicious of your car nav system)

The story this blog tells about going astray by following your car nav system is amusing, and likely strikes a chord with most of us. But the point of the story isn’t about navigation systems, it’s about relationships. I’ve re-read it, and I believe its message is important.

When your car number plate really matters

When your car number plate really matters

Another blog with an amusing story, but this posting generated two more. One of the points I made in writing the first blog was about being properly prepared, which I illustrated by describing how spectacularly unprepared I’d been when setting out to climb Lochnagar, a 1155 metres (3789 ft) mountain within driving distance of our home in Aberdeen. I had told no-one where I was going, and then climbed Lochnagar through thick mist. Only when I reached the summit did I realise I could not find the way down. With steep cliffs one side, wilderness to the other, and the temperature dropping, I was in deep trouble. And no-one was coming to save me. At that point – having illustrated the folly of poor preparation – I left the story. That generated protests from my family! It was obvious I’d survived, but how?

So I told the rest of the story, and then the story beyond the story, in two more parts:

Escape from Lochnagar

Escape from Lochnagar

and

When Alistair met Eve

When Alistair met Eve

Lastly, here’s an early blog that hasn’t been read often.

When the right thing to do is nothing at all

When the right thing to do is nothing at all

I suspect this blog’s title put some people off.  Perhaps some thought reading about doing ‘nothing at all’ wasn’t the best use of their time. Of course, the blog wasn’t really about doing nothing – it was about knowing when to stand firm, not heeding every opinion, not taking every risk. There’s a lot to be said for staying steady when times are tough.

I hope you enjoy reading one or more of these, or any others from the archives. And my rudimentary website skills extended recently to adding a ‘Search’ box to the site. (Not all phones show the search feature, I’m afraid, but many do as well as larger devices.) Enter a key word or phrase, and the blogs with those words appear on your screen. Marvellous.

I’ll be back with new content soon. Best wishes.

When is enough, enough?

‘Enough’ is a difficult and almost dangerous word. It feels comforting and encouraging – who wouldn’t be helped by being told they’ve done enough or have enough?

But often it isn’t comforting because the word ‘enough’ can tyrannise us with feelings of guilt or inadequacy.

How could that happen? Here’s how. Let me retell a story from my days as a church pastor. A young man met with me to insist our church didn’t pray enough. He wasn’t referring to people’s private, personal prayers. His view was that the whole congregation needed to meet together often specifically for prayer. ‘We don’t pray enough,’ he said. We talked, didn’t agree, and finally I asked, ‘Could you imagine a time when the church did pray enough?’ He paused – for quite a long time – then replied, ‘No, I could never imagine we prayed enough’. As gently as I could, I said that if he couldn’t tell me how much ‘enough’ was, then saying ‘we don’t pray enough’ did not make easy sense.

If I won that argument I certainly didn’t win the man – he still didn’t believe we prayed enough.

I heard the concept of ‘enough’ – or, rather, ‘not enough’ – used with countless subjects. People would tell me ‘we don’t sing the old hymns enough’, or ‘we don’t care for the elderly enough’, or ‘we don’t give enough overseas aid’, or ‘we’re not friendly enough to newcomers’, and many more complaints. I had answers, but these statements hurt. When people said we (except often they meant me) were ‘not doing enough’ they meant we were falling short, not putting in sufficient effort or care. Even though I had defences, I felt attacked and guilty.

Of course there are times when we don’t do enough. We don’t reach the expected standard. People talk of doing enough but imply being perfect. We fall short. All of us do.

But there is a particular difficulty with the word ‘enough’. It’s summed up in a simple four word question. When is enough, enough?[1]

First, let’s accept we often won’t know. How could we ever be sure we’ve prayed enough, or thought enough, or been kind enough, or generous enough, or wise enough?

However, we get close to knowing when enough is enough in certain circumstances.

  • When we can define a precise goal in advance – like: ‘I need to walk 10,000 steps a day’ or ‘I must get eight hours sleep each night’ or ‘I must check my car’s tyre pressures every Saturday’. If your targets are the right ones, and you meet them, then you’ll have done enough.
  • When we have imprecise but reasonable awareness of reaching a limit. Well-disciplined people stop eating when they know they’re full (or, even better, nearly full). Confession: I’ve never that well-disciplined. But I knew when I was tired while driving, edging towards feeling sleepy, so would pull in to a service area for a nap or at least to walk in fresh air. These days I realise when my back is sending me warning signals that I’ve worked long enough at my desk and I should stretch and take a break. Speaking of which…

So, we can know when enough is enough, either by achieving precise targets or by having a good idea when we’re reaching limits.

But not everything is easily defined or deduced. Faced with a big decision – like taking up a new job offer – you could tell the prospective employer, ‘I’ll think about it for two days and then give you my answer’. That sounds reasonable, but who can guarantee that two days will be ‘enough’? Forty eight hours may be filled with thought but lacking a clear ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. In fact, no amount of time may ever be enough for certainty about some tough decisions.

The real world is one with confusion and doubt, from which we emerge unsure whether we’ve given something enough time or attention, or been sufficiently kind or generous, and so on. Not knowing if we’ve done enough is normal and often unavoidable.

Second, you’ve reached enough when doing more means something else gets less.

Economists refer to this as the opportunity cost. In their words that’s defined as ‘the forgone benefit that would have been derived from an option not chosen’.[2]

Quickly let me put opportunity cost in my words: to give more to one thing is to have less for another thing.

Imagine these scenarios:

  • You want to give your four children pocket money, but the most you can afford in total is £20 a week. You could give each £5, but perhaps the older ones need more than just £5. Perhaps one needs £8 and the other £6. But that means only £3 each is left for the youngest two, and that’s too little. What would happen? By giving the older kids enough, you’d give the younger ones less than enough.
  • Since you have four children you have a very busy life. But your aged aunt is frail, and your brother is sick, so you devote one evening per week to visit your aunt and one evening per week for your brother. Then your aunt’s health deteriorates, so now you need to see her at least twice per week. There are only two ways to make that possible – you can stop visiting your brother, or you can no longer spend that other evening with your spouse and children.

Opportunity cost is all about balancing resources, which can be time, money, skills, interests, companionship. Spend it one way, and you don’t have the opportunity to spend it another way.

So, if you work ‘til you drop, there’ll be a cost in missed time with family or for leisure and fitness.

Or, spend all your money in bars or clubs, there’ll be too much month at the end of the money, so the cost will be eating badly (or hardly at all).

Or, give too much time to church, community group, or a major hobby, the cost is that needy neighbours don’t get your support.

In other words, any of the sentences above could have been phrased: ‘if you give more than enough to… then there’s less than enough for…’ There is such a thing as ‘enough’, and you will know you’ve reached it when doing more with that thing would mean doing less with another thing. Wise people realise that moment has come, and try to make wise decisions.

Finally, staying within the limits of enough takes courage and determination. It’s normal to overstretch ourselves with things we love doing. Some of my golfing friends play a round every weekday, and go on golfing holidays two or three times a year. Some of Alison’s friends are so committed to dog agility training and competitions, not only do they practise with their dogs several times a week, they own large caravans / trailers and travel hundreds of miles to dog agility events. Why? They love it. Are they doing too much? I can’t make that judgment. But if they are over-committed – giving more than enough – they’ll have to be very brave and very resolute to change.

Such courage and determination is possible. And it’s necessary. Living ‘beyond enough’ is dangerous, especially when it affects health or relationships. Some don’t realise the ‘cost’ in their own life or lives of others until it’s too late. Enough really must be enough.

[1] Or is that only three words?

[2] From Investopedia: https://www.investopedia.com/terms/o/opportunitycost.asp#:~:text=Opportunity%20cost%20is%20the%20forgone,and%20weighed%20against%20the%20others.

How to become better

During my high school years I excelled at English and History. I was mediocre at French and German, and downright awful at Maths. Every subject mattered, so it was obvious what subject I needed to study most. But I didn’t. My effort went into what I enjoyed which was English and History, and I became even better at them. Maths? I disliked it, did as little as I could, and it never improved.

Likewise, I know golfers who are good at driving, but poor at getting their ball out of bunkers. What do they practise? They go to the range and work on their driving. What they’re already good at, they do all the more. What they’re bad at – bunker play – they neglect almost entirely.

There’s a principle at work, and it applies across a range of subjects from education to careers, and into relationships, sports, and hobbies. We practise what we like and neglect what we dislike.

Hence we don’t get better.

I believe it’s important to get better. A simple life goal is to fulfil our potential. That means being the best we can be, and never settling for mediocre or worse.

I have four steps towards that goal of being better.

1. We must want to be better

Some of my school friends had lofty ambitions, therefore they studied, and moved on into careers in medical research, teaching, management. Others – equally clever – took jobs as farm or factory workers. We need farm or factory work – we all depend on it – but these school friends drifted into those roles because they were available locally and they didn’t want to prolong their education. They chose the easy way.

I could have done the same. No-one in my family had ever gone as far as the final year of their schooling, never mind continued on into higher education. And, actually, neither did I, at least not immediately. My parents had no lofty academic expectations for me, and the local youth employment adviser recommended I start work in a department store – ‘probably sweeping the floors at first’ he said – and maybe I’d work up to being a branch manager. Happily I didn’t follow his advice, but got interviewed for journalism with a national newspaper, and left home aged 16 to start working life in Edinburgh with The Scotsman.

I learned much in just a few years, including shorthand, typing, law, as well as journalistic skills, and did well. I was a trusted reporter. Then came a complete change of direction because I made a personal Christian commitment which soon led to believing God had a different calling for me: Christian ministry.  I didn’t have the academic qualifications for admission to university, so studied at night school and then spent a year at a further education college. After that almost all my twenties were used gaining more education.

So the story could go on, but the only point I want to make is that I didn’t want to settle for what was convenient or easy, but dedicated myself to what was better for my life.

Career paths are personal, and I’m not suggesting everyone should try to reach the top rung of a corporate ladder. But I am arguing against casually settling for the bottom rung. Reaching for the best isn’t only a principle for work life – it applies in relationships, or roles in churches or community groups, or hobbies or sports. It’s good to want to be the best we can be.

2. Be aware of expectations given to you from birth

My parents never imagined that I’d go to a university, or head up large organisations. But they did believe in hard work and improving yourself. My dad wanted to be an architect. But his parents made him leave school when he was 14 because he had to bring money into the household. He started work with the Post Office. They gave him a bicycle and sent him miles each day delivering telegrams. Eventually he progressed to delivering the regular mail. Then World War II took him away for almost seven years. Post war, he went back to the Post Office, but moved to the administration side, did well, and years later finished as Post Master in Burntisland, just across the Firth of Forth from Edinburgh.

My dad believed you should be the best you can be, taking into account all the circumstances of your life. It was how he lived. I was given a good legacy.

I feel fortunate to have had those expectations passed on to me. From birth onwards all of us have ideas, goals, attitudes, and ethics bred into us. Parents are usually the main givers, but there are other influencers too.

Then comes a period in our lives when we mature in thought and purposes as well as our bodies. That’s a time when we consider who we are, what we believe, what we want, what we’re willing to give our lives for. We work out these things from the foundation already laid for us. I encourage people to ask, ‘What have I been brought up to think and desire and believe is right?’ And, ‘Is that what’s right for me now?’

The answers can be uncomfortable. For the first time, we may not agree with authority figures, including family. Or, for the first time, we have a different idea to others of what we should do with our lives. Discomfort easily turns into discouragement, and discouragement to settling for the easy road.

We can never make the most of our lives travelling that easy road. I advocate knowing where you’re starting from, defining where you want to go, and working hard to achieve what you believe in.

3. Get someone you trust to tell you how your life should improve

I used to ask interviewees to describe their strengths and weaknesses. The answers were rarely helpful. Then I changed the question to ‘How would someone who knows you well describe your strengths and weaknesses?’ Suddenly I got answers that meant something, including realistic admissions of shortcomings. All that had changed was getting the interviewee to think what someone else would say about them.

How much more powerful to actually ask a trusted friend to describe the areas in your life where you need to get better. They might refuse, not wishing to risk the friendship. But the best of friends will realise you want to know their answer, and they’ll care enough for you to tell the truth.

Most of my life has been lived in the UK, but eight years were spent in the USA. On the whole I found American colleagues and friends more open about their lives. They genuinely wanted to know how they could improve their work, their spiritual lives, their marriages, and so on. Perhaps Brits (like me?) are too ‘buttoned-up’, too inhibited, to expose ourselves to criticism. Or our self-confidence is so low we can’t risk hearing hard truths.

Or it may be that we’re proud. We think we’ve done well, and don’t want anyone telling us we could have done better. And that in the future we’d do better if only we worked on this or that area of weakness.

Actually, perhaps the problem is not pride but fear, fear of knowing we’re not as good as we choose to believe.

Whether it’s low self-esteem, pride or fear that stops us being honest, we need to get over it. Accepting the truth about our weaknesses is stage 1; working to overcome those weaknesses is stage 2. Put together those two stages make us stronger and better people.

4. It’s not just skills that matter; character does too

Skills matter. We should strive for excellence in everything we do.

But probably all of us have met very clever people who weren’t nice to know. They were grumpy, or bullies, or rash, or hard to please, or foul-mouthed, or impatient, or the kind who jump from one idea to the next with no perseverance or resilience in face of challenges. These folk have character issues – flaws – and those flaws need improvement because we carry these traits all through our lives.

On the whole Alison and I have had excellent neighbours. They were kind, helpful, and pleasant to be around. But there have been a few not like that. Some just unfriendly, others critical, one or two downright rude. I think that’s simply how they were; there was never a day when they were different. We did the obvious – we kept out of their way.

Good character builds good relationships, wins people over, generates trust, creates a pleasant atmosphere and makes life a good experience for us and others.

When we think about being better people, we should think about our character. Ruthless honesty, with no excuses, is the right starting point. We probably need a supportive but honest friend too, because we’re blind to many of our own failings. The Scots poet, Robert Burns, wrote:

O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us

If his use of the Scots dialect needs translation for you, he’s saying:

Oh, would some Power give us the gift
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us[1]

 If only, Burns writes, we could see ourselves the way others see us, we’d be freed from so many mistakes. Our characters need that level of insight and change.

In summary, we mustn’t settle for being good where we’re already good. Other parts of our lives need to be strengthened. But we must want to be better, and do whatever it takes to be better. It’s a life-long task, I’ve still some way to go.

[1] Original verse from Burns’ 1786 poem To a louse with ‘translation’ provided at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_a_Louse