On parting

By Paul Streets, outgoing CEO of Lloyds Bank Foundation for England and Wales.

‘Remember, when you’re no longer a CEO, no one is paid to listen to you anymore’

Over the last 18 months I have been working through the bereavement of leaving a job and a career I have loved. And still do. Mostly. I say bereavement not to trivialise those who have lost loved ones. But as a CE, in so many ways, you are married to the role. And if you’re not you probably should be. Especially in a sector where compassion and commitment are King and Queen. If you can’t display both you will be found out.

Like all marriages it has ups and downs – but it is the enduring part of your life. When times are bad and when times are good it’s never out of your head. It will sometimes fill you with excitement and euphoria. Sometimes with doom and desperation. But, unlike a good marriage, most of that you will bear alone. A good chair will support you – but at a distance because there is much you can’t and shouldn’t share. Your team will support you – but there is much you shouldn’t, or can’t, say. Your partner is probably sick to death of hearing about your job – though will probably bear it stoically. But they will likely be a constant, and grounding, reminder that you’re not a CEO everywhere. Listen to that – it’s important for what follows.

Being a CE is full on. As it should be. Privilege is an overused word but being the CE of a charity is a privilege. To sometimes not want to go work – but always know why you do. To place people and purpose at the heart of what you do – not wonder what the point is. To work with like minded people who are here because of the cause – not the paycheque (or yes – because of you!).

Getting your head round how to escape that takes time. It’s been niggling at the back of my head for probably three years. Initially the considerations are practical. Can I afford it? What will I do? What do my partner and family think? But ultimately the decision is both deeply personal and deeply emotional because, unlike most bereavements, it’s a choice. It takes time to embrace that choice willingly. And even more time to embrace it warmly. Meantime you’ll be desperate to tell people – but wary of becoming a lame duck leader. That means you will likely bear it for a long time before you are able to speak of it. If you are wise. And that will make you feel dishonest and conflicted as you tussle with managing now, and imagining ‘future’.

It’s also tied up with ego and status. I am a ‘serial’ CE – I have been one for over 20 years. That’s almost half my working life, and a third of my actual life. You don’t kick a 20 year habit easily. A good friend said to me: ‘remember Paul when you are not a CE no-one is paid to listen to you anymore’. And it’s echoed in my head as a reminder of the fragility of position power. It’s very easy to get wrapped up in the status that comes with the power. People want to speak to you. To listen to you. Ask your opinion. Invite you to events. Invite you to speak and be on panels. Multiply that many times if you are a funder too. Everyone seems to love you.

With all that gone what’s left? But it is the deepening recognition of that very fragility that begins to make it feel easier. However authentic you have been as a leader there is a large part of you that you haven’t been able to explore because, being a leader, requires single mindedness and focus. Maybe there may be other leaders out there who have managed to keep the rest of their lives in perspective. But I suspect in our sector I am not unusual. I get a sense of what could be on extended breaks – maybe the summer and Christmas. But most of the time I am full on CEO – in mind if not in body.

As I have got nearer to the ‘home run’ that sense of what ‘might be’ has become clearer and more enticing. For the first time in years, I don’t need to be good at everything I do. Or mask that I am not. I don’t need to worry about my CV and the next role – which has probably preoccupied those of us with ambitions all our working lives. I don’t need to meet (some) people I don’t especially like. And the diary. Oh the diary. We booked a long break sometime ago and the company contacted me because they had to change the dates.  Urgh. I imagined having to go back and navigate all the rescheduling with my patient PA. Not this time. There is nothing in the diary that I can’t move. Finally – escape from the tyranny of a life that is mapped out in meetings, events, Boards and unavoidable commitments for months, sometimes years, ahead. An avalanche of appointments that constantly advances towards you but never – quite – consumes you.

Gradually you begin to get a sense of liberation. Wow – what about that thing that I really fancied doing? That place we fancied going to for a longer trip? Spending some of those savings we have been accumulating on some fun stuff. What about all that clutter in my brain that will clear out and leave space for other more cerebral pursuits. I am a lover of music and singing. Of History and of Art. Of clocks. Suddenly the prospect that these won’t need to be snatched indulgent moments at the margins – they can move to the centre.  But most of all of family and friends. I have never been a martyr to my work. I have religiously booked my leave at the beginning of the year and taken it. I do delegate – a lot. And flexible working has meant I rarely now have to miss family events. But suddenly family and friends can take the centre stage where, if I’m honest, work has been far too often.

And what of the legacy? I’ve now been around long enough to know that the things you are most proud of as a CE are often only clear years and years after you have gone. The organisation, programme or initiative, that you kicked off and has outlived your then tenure and become significant. I can think of 3 maybe 4 big ones. No one would attribute them to me but I know I was there at the beginning. And that is a source of quiet inner pride. But the most important thing you leave behind is the people you have worked with and for. A wise counsel once told me ‘be nice to people on the way up – because you never know who you’ll meet on the way down’.  That may speak of self-interest – but ultimately that drives all of us – whatever it looks like. But as a charity leader your primary responsibility is to support great people to do great things that make a difference. If you have done that to the best of your abilities, you will leave a diaspora who know what it’s like to be well led and well supported. But will also have learnt from you when you have got it wrong – if you have ‘fessed up’, as you should. And they will emulate what they have learnt in their own roles. And for some, who chose similar paths, with the people they then chose to lead. Just as I have tried to do from the best of those I followed and admired earlier in my career.

And my top tips.

1. Don’t worry that you won’t be able to imagine what it is like when you start to think about it – probably years before you stop. It will take time. It’s the starting that matters.
2. When you decide control the narrative and the timing. It’s your story so decide how you want it told. So don’t spill the beans with staff and your board too early: maybe nine months with your chair, six with staff. And be careful who you tell earlier because your news has currency. Make sure it comes out as your coherent story – not someone else’s office speculation or gossip.
3. But – do talk to as many different people (you can trust not to be bean spillers) as you can who have approached the same transition, and after they have transitioned. Observe closely and ask what worked for them. Steal their best tips. One of mine was from a friend who told me to stop work in the Spring, not January. Wise not just because of the long days – but also as a positive metaphor for the onset of the next stage of life.
4. Read books on it. I would discard the US ones – and there are many. Too sickly sweet and nauseous. Life isn’t a bed of roses. It has prickles. And this journey is no different. The best one I read was ‘Changing Gear’ https://www.changing-gear.com/ recommended by one of my friends. Full of sound advice.
5. Do your sums. If you are going to stop, you do need to be able to afford. And whilst money can’t buy you love, you don’t want to stop work and worry about it. Decide what income you might need – and how you will secure it, without part time work being as all-consuming as working full time has been.
6. Don’t make it a cliff edge or a chasm. I am going to continue some of my NED work and my mentoring with ACEVO (of course) – but it will probably be one day a week. But I would anticipate gradually winding that down, and definitely prioritising it only to what I like and enjoy (remember forget the CV – for the first time you can do just what you want to do). But also, don’t make it a chasm by leaping across the gap to the next cliff. I see people shift from full time work to full time NED work with virtually no space between. That may be right for a few. But I think you have to create the space first to know what you want to do with it. I may well want to approach another cliff, but I know it will be a different one and likely a lot lower.
7. Play with what you could do if your time was all yours. The stuff you already like but squeeze around the job, for me – family, friends, long distance walking, cycling. And the stuff that might fill the big gap. I have imagined myself as an Art Historian, Archaeologist, Auto-biographer, Piana prodigy, Carmen (I sing), Clock restorer, Traveller or all, or none, of the aforementioned. The list goes on. I don’t know how it will pan out, but it is fun thinking about it.
8. Speak to those who are nearest and dearest to you – but you have to make the decision. They may listen, and your partner will definitely be affected by this as much as you may be, but ultimately you have to make the call.
9. Ignore the FOMO that has likely dominated your professional career. If you take a break for a while to recalibrate there will still be interesting opportunities if you want them – you don’t need to grasp at the first ones that come up. You can choose: if, whether, when.
10. Think yourself lucky and blessed that you have had a fascinating and fulfilling career. With that as a start point for what comes next, there’s every reason why it can’t be differently, but equally, fascinating and fulfilling. If only you can imagine it.

That’s 10. Enough and suitably biblical for a momentous decision.

I hope this is of value to those who follow me into this journey. If you have got this far it may be.  I might write another a few months in to tell you what it’s really like. Or I might not. I can choose. There is no obligation. No commitment. No wish to enrich the CV. Only choices. My choices. The journey so far has (largely) been a joy – and I have people in this sector to thank for that. I do feel eager and equipped for what comes next – with lots of rich memories of what has passed. Thanks.  And bye.

For now.