When I saw the word, I laughed. Out loud. In the middle of my review.
“I’m sorry,” I told my boss. “I said I wouldn’t read ahead to the feedback. But this — it’s too true.”
I’m fortunate to get a performance review every year, which assesses my work and includes feedback from my peers, co-workers, and clients.
I say fortunate, because I’m optimistic; these past few years have been a bit tougher on me.
I made a career switch to something that would test me differently, leaving behind a decent run in middle management, where most everyone seemed to appreciate me, people respected my work, and leadership threw me a ton of money.
I gave that up because I needed a different challenge.
And it has been a challenge — a humbling one at that.
I pivoted to an area where I started from scratch, needing to build my skills, connections, and clout all over again.
Expertise and experience take work. My reviews from years back were like annual coronations of that effort, while now they’ve been more building blocks and stepping stones in my current career.
This year, though, amidst half-decent feedback and kind commentary, one phrase stood out:
“Hunter tends to be a bit obtuse in his analogies…”
Unlike the Warden in Shawshank, I got the connotation straight away. I wasn’t mad – that’s a brilliant word! That takes English dexterity, a connoisseur’s word, one that I appreciated.
Obtuse wasn’t just deliberate. It’s just me.
The rest of the comment was positive, but ‘obtuse’ rang as an unassailable attribute, something that typifies me as much as redheadedness.
It was my worst review in years, relatively speaking. It’s a newer gig to me.
But that’s ok.
I’m going to try harder things. I’m going to get good enough to have a chance to be bad at something even more difficult.
Though my stories, analogies, and communication might have obtuse angles, there’s one angle I hang onto that helps most of all: