What Are You Built For?

When's the last time you did something you got completely lost in? Something where you looked up and two hours had gone by, and you genuinely didn't want to stop.

Take a second and jot down on a piece of paper nearby what that activity was. Seriously, do it. We'll come back to it.

If you're lucky, that happens to you regularly. If you're really lucky, it happens when you're at work. And when I say work, I mean applying energy toward something beyond yourself: parenting, volunteering, or earning a living.

Here's what I've noticed, both in myself and in a lot of the people we get to work with: when we get fully absorbed in something, the act of doing it becomes effortless. Not easy. Effortless. Those are not the same thing.

We have 4 kids, and something I marvel at is how different they are from each other. Same house, same family, but what they love and what they're good at is completely their own. Anyone who spends time with kids knows what I'm talking about. Every kid has something. Some way they light up that you just don't see anywhere else.

I talk to my parents from time to time (not enough, sorry mom) and when I do, I'll often share something I'm proud of. A win at work, something I pulled off as a parent, a project that came together. And almost every time, they smile and connect it back to something I was doing when I was eight years old.

It used to drive me crazy (and sometimes it still does).

I want to own my wins. I worked for them. They're mine. But here's what I've come to understand: my parents saw me before I learned to filter myself. They watched what I was drawn to when I had no reason to perform or pretend. When I share something I'm excited about now, it just doesn't surprise them, because to them it's not something new. It's just me, doing what I've always done, but doing it in a slightly different context.

The same thing is true now of the kids in my life, and would be in yours as well. You already know the ‘special’ things about them. You can probably name them without thinking very hard.

Here's where it gets really interesting.

Jim Collins just published a new book called What to Make of a Life. The book is the result of a decade studying some of the most accomplished people who ever lived, trying to understand what actually made their lives great.

The book is full of insights (I’m sure there will be more we’ll share here as the weeks go by) but the one I can’t stop thinking about is all related to this idea. We're all born with a set of interests and abilities that are uniquely ours. He calls them "encodings."

Your encodings are different from mine. My encodings are different from everyone else's. Every person has their own unique encodings that make them who they are - all 8 billion of us today, and all of the people who have ever existed.

Kids express theirs without even thinking about it. If they like to draw, they draw. If they like to make people laugh, they make people laugh. There's no second-guessing. They just do the thing.

Adults are a completely different story. We bury our encodings. Cover them up. Sometimes avoid them altogether. But the people Collins studied did the opposite. Once they discovered theirs, they leaned into them and made them a part of their everyday lives.

Writers wrote. Pilots flew. Singers sang.

Most of us have bills to pay. So we manage projects, build decks, attend stand-ups...you know the drill. That's real, and I'm not dismissing it. But understanding what your encodings actually are gives you a chance to become more intentional about where and how you spend your time.

Which brings me back to that piece of paper.

Look at what you wrote down. When you stopped doing that thing, how did you feel? Tired and ready for a nap? Or weirdly energized?

If it's the latter, pay attention to that. That's a signal to where your encodings actually live.

Take a few minutes and try to identify two or three things about that activity that got you. Not just what it was, but why it absorbed you the way it did, and what you were doing in that time.

I'll use writing this blog as an example. I sat down this morning, and the next time I looked at the clock, two hours had gone by. When I ask myself why that happens with writing, I come up with three things pretty quickly.

1) I've always loved it. I was writing stories as a kid at school, and then at home the minute we got our first computer.

2) I love the challenge of taking something complicated and finding a way to translate that into something simple.

3) And there's something about the quiet early morning, somewhere between five and seven, that I can't replicate at any other time of the day. The writing fits the time as much as it fits me.

Three things. And together, they tell me something more specific than "I like to write." They help give me signals of different things that I'm actually built for.

That's the whole exercise. Run it every time you find yourself getting lost in something, or grinding through something hard that somehow feels effortless to you. Over time, you start to see the pattern.

The better you understand your encodings, the better your chances of spending more of your time doing work that brings the best of you into the world.

That feels worth a few minutes to figure out.