Are You a Koala or Raccoon? July 4, 2010Posted by randydeutsch in Ambiguity, career, employment, environment, identity, pragmatism, survival, the economy.
Tags: careers, employment, generalists, hedgehog and fox, hiring, specialists, well-rounded, wide and deep skills
To see that this is true we only need to look at Vitruvius’s bucket list for the training of architects:
to be creative, apt in the acquisition of knowledge, a good writer, a skillful draftsman, versed in geometry and optics, expert at figures, acquainted with history, informed on the principles of natural and moral philosophy, somewhat of a musician, not ignorant of the law and of physics, nor of the motions, laws, and relations to each other, of the heavenly bodies
Despite never becoming somewhat of a musician, many practitioners understandably have remained generalists their entire careers.
Some to great success.
That is, until now.
For while statistics aren’t readily available it is conceivable that the majority of architects who find themselves out of work, or underemployed, today are the generalist sort.
That the better gamble would have – years earlier – been to become experts at something.
But that thinking – while comforting to tell oneself – would be off-the-mark.
By suddenly specializing, generalists do themselves a disservice, are untrue to their calling and sell themselves short.
More than anyone employers need to realize this.
For while there are certainly merits and detriments to each:
Is the current trend to fill holes predominantly with specialists short-sighted?
Using a biological analogy, a generalist species is able to thrive in a wide variety of environmental conditions and can make use of a variety of different resources while specialist species can only thrive in a narrow range of environmental conditions with a limited diet.
In more utilitarian terms, specialists know where to hit the nail to get rid of the creak in the floor board.
While generalists can recommend eleven types of flooring that don’t creak in the first place.
Generalists see the big picture.
Specialists have great depth of experience in one specific area.
Generalists conceive the big ideas and concepts that energize teams and carry construction projects through their arduous 3-5 year lifespan.
Specialists focus all of their effort and skill development on one specialty.
Generalists keep things interesting – they’re often whom colleagues and clients relate with best.
Specialists have an easier time selling their services once they find their market and can charge more.
Generalists are the glue that holds teams together.
In the body politic, specialists are the workhorse liver and spleen.
Generalists? The heart and sinew.
Specialists know the work inside and out.
Generalists – with broad peripheral knowledge and the ability to provide clients with alternatives if one solution doesn’t fit – are the heart and soul of the operation.
For that really is the crux of the matter:
When specialists die who attends their funeral?
When generalists die they’re standing 10 deep, nary a dry eye in the room.
Specialists may be safer in the short term but generalists are a whole lot more fun.
Is your specialty being a generalist? Are generalists the new specialists?
Architects have so much to learn that being a jack-of-all-trades isn’t really a conceivable route to take.
Even generalists are more specialized than they give themselves credit for.
One look at the jobs postings – what there are of them – and its dishearteningly clear: only specialists are in demand.
Employers now require recruits and candidates that are exact matches for the holes they need to fill.
Down to the detail – looking for people with single attributes.
In the wish list of job requirements “well-rounded” is not among them.
Forget round altogether. We’re living in square peg, square hole times.
Not fire starters but firemen – relievers – to put out fires.
Wanted: Closers, not openers. Fastballs, not knuckleballs.
And there’s no room for ambiguity, no growing into the position. You’re either it – or you’re not.
It may be well and good that the architect’s core competency is a hard-earned and all-too-rare comfort with ambiguity.
Make no mistake. We are living in clearly unambiguous times.
This talent – often referred to as agility and flexibility – to keep as many balls in the air for as long as possible isn’t needed right now, thank you.
For there are far fewer balls to maneuver and the few that there are seem to hang in the air longer.
Task masters are in. Multitaskers need not apply.
Going back to that biological analogy, most organisms of course do not fit neatly into either the specialist or generalist camp. Some species are highly specialized, others less so, while some can tolerate many different environments.
In other words, it’s probably healthiest for architects to think of the specialist–generalist issue as a continuum, from highly specialized experts on one end to broadly generalist practitioners on the other.
Instead, ask yourself: Are you a Koala or Raccoon?
In our current work environment it is perhaps best to think of oneself like the wily raccoon – which are able to adapt to all sorts of environments, even urban ones.
But then again, adaptability – like the generalist today – is underrated.
Perhaps it’s best to be a little of both?
But you’d have to be a generalist to see it that way.
Image credit: Lynne Lancaster
The Receptionist’s Candy Bowl as Economic Indicator June 7, 2009Posted by randydeutsch in Ambiguity, architect, career, change, employment, survival, the economy.
Tags: employment, the economy, Work
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It’s official. You no longer recognize your life.
Things you’ve seen over the past few months you can’t quite place. Often, you don’t have a name for them. And if it weren’t for your spouse, no one would believe that they’re happening to you.
It’s as though you’re living in some kind of simulacrum of someone else’s existence, only for about half the salary. Without matching funds. And the candy bowl is empty.
Your company mobile phones are long gone. You can no longer print in color. Just the sound of the office printer – inexplicably stocked only with resume paper – raises eyebrows.
The company printer is no longer for printing. It is for emailing. You use it to email things to yourself. Otherwise your mail box would be empty. This is now what you do for a living.
Working part time, if they want you to work a full week (and legally they can’t ask you to do that) they assign you to kitchen clean-up duty at 4:30PM on Fridays, a day you haven’t worked in 6 months. Not cleaning the kitchen at 4:30PM on Fridays is grounds for dismissal, so you show up for work on Friday at 4:30PM, clean the kitchen and leave fifteen minutes later.
You’ve cracked the code. This is the new win-win. And the kitchen is clean come Monday morning.
Renting available cubicle real-estate, your former clients now sit amongst you. They use the company bathroom, not the bathroom for company.
Going after work you normally don’t go after, you inevitably run into the same firms, going after work they normally don’t go after. Those that normally went after this work aren’t anywhere to be found.
The receptionist’s candy bowl as economic indicator. Completely empty in March, the bowl is now filled each morning with candy leftover from Halloween. Even so, it empties before noon.
You wonder if eating stale candy means things are improving.
In order to network effectively, you attend afterhours events featuring presentations on quarter sawn lumber, rooftop mounted wind-turbines, and the future of the city. All in the same day.
You no longer know who you are. You find yourself frequently referencing your business card to remind yourself who you are.
You need to order more business cards, but are afraid to ask.
Meanwhile, you find yourself considering whether quarter sawn wind-turbines might save our cities?
Attending webinars in conference rooms. Muted. Phoning-in to RFP Q&As. Disembodied voices.
Owners, recognizing the feeding frenzy, suddenly put out their projects in hopes of attracting the lowest bidder.
Can you be furloughed from a furlough? During your furlough, you’re needed at the office. Then, inexplicably, the client stops calling. You no longer know where you should be.
You find yourself offering weird services for which you know you are not qualified. Building commissioning in foreign countries. 3D laser scanning of entire cities. Quarter-sawing lumber.
People you haven’t spoken to in 20 years suddenly “friend” you online. Eleven seconds later they request an introduction. Wham Bam, Recommend Me Man.
Former colleagues, unemployed, quizzically seem better off than you. You run into one at the gym. They look at you like recession, what recession?
You know you should have taken their job offer.
Former donors to social service organizations are now recipients of their services.
You consider temporarily living away from your spouse, children and dog. You wonder how the dog will handle it.
Not knowing what to do with the accumulated pile of once vital information on living in Dubai.
Former classmates – now semi-famous politicians, actors and actresses – find you on social networking sites. Just at the one time in the past 20 years when you have nothing to brag about, you’re needy, and for all your former success the best you can offer when they suggest meeting for drinks is going Dutch.
You feel like you’re 16 again on Facebook because you are 16 again.
You’re making what you made in 1989 but the world, uncooperatively, costs 2009.
New technologies keep popping up, you wonder – with every passing day hovering ever closer to retirement – whether you’ll need to learn them. Or can take a pass. You wait and see.
The irony that you need to belong to organizations and attend networking events in order to find the kind of job where you make the kind of money to pay for these organizations and networking events.
No longer contributing to your 401K while watching the market climb. Afraid that contributing will trigger something that causes the market to stop climbing.
When your business cards finally run out, is that your last day?
You remind yourself that a watched receptionist’s candy bowl never fills.