A few weeks ago I flew to the U.S. for a vacation with my parents. The customs agent I spoke with at the Toronto airport asked me what I did for a living. For nearly a decade, I would have said, “I’m a PhD student.” This time, I said without hesitation, “I’m a coach!” When he inquired further, I told him I worked with graduate students and PhDs changing careers. Doing a doctorate could be crushing, I said while squeezing my hands together. As a coach I help these incredibly smart, creative, motivated people get un-crushed so they can do better for themselves and for the wider world. I opened my hands and spread my lower arms. He seemed convinced, wished me a nice trip, and sent me on my way.
That may have been the first time I’ve told someone that I’m a coach – and really meant it. A year ago, when I started working with my own coach, I had a hard time knowing what to say. My identity was up in the air. I had a PhD but wasn’t an academic, a researcher but not a scholar. I was self-employed but wasn’t making enough to cover my expenses. I was frustrated with my paid work and felt little connection with the worlds I’d come to know best: my research field, my graduate department, and the Toronto music scene.
And now . . . wow. It’s early days in my business — I’ve only been at this since July — and much remains to be seen. But I feel great about where I am, and thrilled about where I’m headed. I haven’t felt this way in years.
When I get distracted or find myself off-course, it’s this feeling that brings me back, reminds me why I’m determined to make this new phase of my life a lasting success. Every client call firms up my commitment: I do important work.