A few months back I met with friend and coach-extraordinaire Lindsey Lathrop to talk about my LinkedIn presence. She’s a whiz at lots of things and leveraging this platform to connect with others and build a network is among those things. The challenge I brought her was routine enough: How does someone who generally detests and avoids social media platforms make a place like LinkedIn work for them (you know, without getting sucked down the rabbit holes that are vanity metrics, constant comparing of self against others, and chasing likes or comments or “impressions”?) She was super helpful and, if you’re like me and more resistant than not and still want guidance, call her immediately!
The LinkedIn help was spot on and useful. And, it was something else she said that reminded me what I care about, and a bit about what I don’t. Because she’s thorough, Lindsay had spent some time clicking through my meager website and browsing my current LinkedIn profile. Her feedback – which for me was almost like permission to move on to more important things – was, “You’re website and your profile are. . .fine.” Not fine like fine dining or wine or china. Not fiiiiine (like damn fine). Fine like. . .serviceable. Without major flaws or problems. Generally inoffensive. For some people that’d have been an existential disappointment. For me, it was music to my ears.
In a busy world where time is often among the more precious and limited of resources we have (to do what we want to or need, to have the impact we aspire to), it feels increasingly important to me to embrace the reality that, for some things, fine is good enough. But not good enough in a resigned or no sh*ts left to give way – fine as in totally (enthusiastically) satisfactory. Because that means there’s more time for the stuff that matters.
When I coach individuals, help teams work through tricky dynamics or problems, or facilitate organizational employee engagement assessments, I want those things to be exemplary – my best work given the variables at play. When I encounter a rough spot in my personal life or learn a friend is having a struggle, I want my attention and my efforts to be full and focused. When I’m driving my family down a busy highway in our 12,000-pound van/RV, I want my bandwidth well-tuned to the road and my surroundings. So maybe my website and my LinkedIn profile (and my wardrobe and my books-read count and my ability to navigate without the help of Google Maps) need to be just. . .fine. To make those things I care most about the best I can, there are other things that are going to have to be just fine and, to be honest, I find that to be a big relief.
The permission to accept and embrace fine borders on the realm of superpower. And, in a world where so much of what we consume and are exposed to is in a touched up, glossy, all-traces-of-imperfection-removed state, it’s also something of an achievement over ego and self-doubt. So I’m taking fine as a huge win. I’ll make a tweak or two to satisfy my own incredibly limited ambition in this space, but if you’re looking for gold standard, best look to someone else’s URL or profile. I’ll be over here, and I’ll be juuuuust fine.
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