I changed my life on an Amtrak train between Ojai and San Diego
Confessions of a Flakey Mcflakster
I was always pretty good at flaking.
Usually, this happened after the initial excitement of the Awesome New Thing began to wear off. I would start moving out of ‘unconscious incompetence’ (where I don’t know what I don’t know) and become increasingly aware of exactly what I don’t know.
Things would begin to feel uncomfortable or frustrating, or they weren’t going to plan as I bumped up against the edges of my competence.
Because there was always the risk that people would know I had no idea what I was doing and that I might look stupid (obviously horrifying). #oldestdaughterenergy
When things got complex, I was amazing at finding an excuse to get me out of the Thing previously known as Awesome. An expert at finding an Even Shinier Thing, I would be shameless at claiming to be too busy/stressed/overworked or finding someone else to blame. Occasionally, I just lied outright (I’ve found that you can get away with most things if you lie with some humour).
But I haven’t flaked on myself for over a decade, and I remember the exact moment I stopped.
BTW, trains in America are astonishing. Hulking, silver beasts that carve a historied river of tracks like arteries across that vast country. Unlike British Rail, where trains are crowded communal experiences, in the States, trains are very much the poorer cousins of giant SUVs (mostly containing exactly one person).1
Anyhoo. I was on a train.
From Ojai (where I had co-led my second coaching retreat) to San Diego (to attend a coaching conference).
I was three months into full-time Ladypreneurials, living in the swamp of conscious incompetence. And there was nowhere to hide.
I had actively participated in every tiny choice that led me there. I’d invested thousands of pounds in my own learning, sacrificed so much time with Ash and worked ridiculous hours for two years to create an entity that, at the time, was becoming a little business.
I had totally found my thing.
And this meant I’d also begun to discover my edges – especially the marketing and the selling and the money stuff. And there was always just so much to do. And I had no idea where to start or if I was even doing the right things. Or doing anything right? I was only a year into sobriety. I had never wanted a drink so bad.
The only thing I was sure of was that there was nowhere else to go.
At the time, I was also enrolled in a rigorous master’s programme at Oxford Brookes. I had an essay due about the psychotherapeutic dimensions of coaching - a complex and fascinating subject matter, and I liked the professor teaching this work – I wanted to do a good job on the assignment.
I had already been given a reluctant extension of a week, during which it was made clear that another would not be granted.
If I failed the paper, I would fail the class, (I didn’t quite trust myself to repeat it).
So here was the moment - the first time in my adult life where I was hyper-aware of this choice point (this whole self-awareness gig is a total pain in the arse sometimes).
I had the stark choice to flake out, bin the whole thing off, find a way to justify it, and continue the pattern of breaking my own promises to myself. OR I could do something completely, shockingly out of character and finish the fucking essay.
Somehow I mostly ignored the gob-smackingly beautiful California coast out the window and cracked on with the essay. I did what I could. And then again on return flight. And when I got home, I decided to disbelieve in the concept of jet lag, drank a metric tonne of coffee and finished the assignment just before the deadline of midnight on Saturday.
By the time I hit send, I was delirious.
And utterly certain I was not a flake anymore.
There is no fairy tale ending.
It was not even a good essay. The professor (who I really respected and cared very much about her opinion) was clearly disappointed (even a bit resentful?). I got the lowest mark of my entire degree. When I graduated, I missed out on ‘distinction’ by two marks, so my ‘meh merit’ award is forever a reminder of my shit essay.
But I didn’t care. I was so grateful to pass. By the time I handed it in, I was fully prepared to resit the paper if needed.
I learned that sometimes you just need to do something different to see what it teaches you.
On that train, I made one choice, without any real appreciation of the cascade of choices that would follow. It was like my cells started to regenerate at that moment; I started becoming some future version of me - someone I had barely glimpsed at, who mostly had her shit together - I could almost feel her willing me forwards into this life.
And hey - if you’ve got unrealised dreams, abandoned goals, or habits you want to change, please check out Courage-based Goals.
This six-week programme is specifically designed for humans with self-doubt, so if your goals bring out a tonne of procrastination, perfectionism, and self-criticism, this is for you. What if this could be so much easier than you imagine?
Someone, please write about the cultural values of countries, using the favoured mode of transport as a metaphor.