In the work world, I call myself variously an advisor, or consultant, or a trainer, or facilitator. Many labels for what I do, none of them using engineer. And yet, when I look through what I’ve done, and the roles I’ve had, I think they’re best labelled as project engineering roles. The responsibilities of project engineers include, and rely on, managing the project documentation. This includes risk, quality, and scope of the work.

Project engineers are linchpins on a project, and it’s time for there to be more support out there helping you project engineers to be great at it.

I set up my own practise in mid-2016, more by default than by desire. I hadn’t intended to run a business, or be a contractor; I actually, honestly, assumed I’d be a loyal employee. But three redundancies indicated to me that my loyalty wasn’t working.

An opportunity to do some contracting in a related industry came up, and so I took that as a sign. I got a “pty ltd” and set out on the solo journey.

The old saying “it’s a hard way to make an easy living” is always applicable. Sometimes it’s hard, but it’s really worth it.

Writing about principles is like writing about air. They’re essential, yet hard to see and hard to describe. And you know it when you don’t have it.

When I read codes of ethics or codes of conduct, I can’t help but just think how obvious it is and wonder why we have to explain it. Like air: we don’t need to be told how to breathe.

I’ve recently been involved in the development of a code of engineering practise for the pipeline industry. It’ll be published in the new year, and it’s something I’m very proud to have helped write.

My first role after university lasted almost 5 years in Calgary. Next, 6 years at the company that recruited me to Brisbane, though it changed names several times. At the 10-year mark I had a mid-career-crisis and changed 3 times in 4 years. Then two good stints of three and five years, both ending via redundancies. After that, going solo made sense.

They say Generation X was the first generation to not feel company loyalty. My parents were surprised when I left my first job so quickly.

It’s hard to know what a successful career trajectory should really look like.

By the mid-2000s, I was ten years into my engineering career, and was starting to get noticed. By asking questions, and actually listening to the responses, people noticed. This became my standard: ask questions and, more importantly, digest the answers and ask more questions.

That approach probably helped to get invited to join Standards committees. Now, I’m known for my contribution to Australian Standards. I chair several committees, and the facilitation role suits me. I also like the writing, the editing, and the amazing committee discussions.

The Standards committees are a real community, and I like being part of that.

In 2006, the Australian pipeline industry association’s CEO got several dozen young people together in Canberra, to talk about ourselves and our future. From that fledgling discussion, the Australian YPF (Young Pipeliner’s Forum) emerged, and is still thriving.

I can’t remember the details, but somehow, I was one of the original organisers, to get it off the ground in the early days. Aimed at under-35s, there are site visits, networking events and technical tours. I still attend the national update meetings. Recently I observed, “you can’t get rid of me!” It’s nice that the response was, “We aren’t trying to.”

In 2004, after ten years with the job title “pipeline engineer”, I wasn’t really sure I was one. So, I started asking around, to better understand role expectations. There are so many things a pipeline engineer can be responsible for.

I presented my findings at an industry dinner, which really got everyone talking. Five years later, a set of 240 competencies for pipeline engineers was developed by industry volunteers (“PECS”). I’m very proud to have been a catalyst for that.

What I learned from the experience was that I was probably more of a project engineer than pure pipeline engineer.

My fifth Ironman was the 2019 IMNZ at Lake Taupo, NZ. It was simply amazing. (Putting aside the wicked crosswind on the bike).

I haven’t wanted to do any since, and I’m not sure I’ll do another. Though I won’t go so far as to say I’m sure I won’t. Because I do miss the feeling of joy crossing those finish lines.

This is a very important aspect of anyone’s life: finding joy. So, while it might not always be easy, I do try to think about where to find the joy.

Life’s better when there are moments of joy.

By the time my fourth Ironman came around, the 2018 IMWA in Busselton south of Perth, I had a rhythm to it. I had knowledge, experience, and some skills. One can’t do something as momentous as multiple Ironmans and not learn something along the way.

I also learned the need to facilitate, and negotiate. Negotiate for time, attention, resources. Other people in my life also had to be on the journey, whether they knew it or not, liked it or not. We all had to negotiate, we had to accommodate the priorities, we worked it out together, made it work.

It takes an odd bit of misplaced confidence, some “nevermind-ism”, and, well, cheek, for me, with minimal biking skills, and who feels awfully vulnerable at speed, to spend 180km trying to go fast on a bike. At first it took ages just to get the confidence to drop down onto the aerobars.

“Amateur” can mean “not getting paid”, but amateur also interprets as “not very good at it”, “inexpert”, or even “clumsy”. That’s me and cycling. To take on the very hilly, challenging Port Macquarie Ironman in 2017: that was me stepping strongly into something even while identifying as amateur.

Finishing one Ironman triathlon wasn’t enough for me. I started planning number two within weeks of the first one, choosing the June 2016 Cairns swim-bike-run.

Another long-range plan, requiring more schedules and spreadsheets and tracking and reading and learning, planning nutrition and fitness, and planning how to peak 12 months later.

The thing with plans is, they’re only a guideline. On the morning in Cairns, a tropical storm blew in and the 3.8km swim was a choppy washing machine of despair. You can’t plan for the weather! Still, finished the whole thing, and again looking forward to the next one.

In March 2015, I completed my first of five Ironman triathlons, in Melbourne Australia. And to my credit, I didn’t just complete the 3.8km swim, 180km bike and 42.2km run, I finished it actually wanting to do another one. That’s a finish that many don’t imagine: wanting to do another one.

Taking on endurance events takes a certain kind of mindset: that of a finisher. Preparation took 12 months, and it took a steely eye on the goal, dedication to the plan, and the ability to forge ahead when things got tough.

Being a finisher is more than just starting.

Today’s reflection is about the effects of uncertainty, change, adventure, and amongst all that, still being in control.

In March 1997, I turned 27, and it wasn’t an easy time for me. Even though I was employed in a good job in my beloved home city of Calgary, I was restless and unsettled. It was a pivotal year, and it turned out alright.

Full credit to my wise mother for putting me back in control. By August I’d found a pipeline engineering job in Australia, and in October moved to Brisbane without knowing a soul here. Call it controlled adventure.

In 1988, I turned 18 and inherited a bit of money, $6000. My mother made it very clear that I was to spend it on something meaningful. “Spend it on something that will impact your life”.

Even though I grew up in Calgary and was (am) a city girl; somehow, I fancied myself in the horsey-set, via horse camp and riding lessons. Capital outlay for a horse (then) was about $6000.

1988 was also high school graduation. A 6-week summer student trip beckoned, for $6000. A (chaperoned) drive up the east coast of Australia, for fifteen 18-year-old Calgarians. Meaningful! Impactful!

I’ve always credited Mr Wereley, my high school physics teacher, for encouraging my engineering degree decision. Though I wonder. My father was an accomplished seismic geologist; we lost him in a car accident when I was very young. My mother, an English teacher, then married a wonderful civil engineer. He’s a respected retired professor at the University of Calgary and a well-known concrete expert. There must’ve been some influence there.

But I distinctly remember Mr Wereley saying to me, “Don’t be a scientist… get an engineering degree! You will do so much more in the world with an engineering degree”.

The “About Me” sections of websites and LinkedIn give me the heebie-jeebies. Same with biographies for the emcee to announce me as a speaker.

I’m not sure if it’s due to a strong sense of privacy, or something else. It’d be easy to say it’s because I don’t feel comfortable writing about my accomplishments, and maybe that’s some of it. Mostly I don’t think people are that interested. And, I like my privacy.

Having said that, it’s time to get personal here. Through December I’ll be writing 100 words about me, and how life’s experiences fit with what I do.

An 8-year-old asked me, “what’s a deadline?”. Oh, the innocence of not knowing what a deadline is.

The origin of the word is from the mid-1800s, being an actual line around a prison that if a prisoner crossed it, well, that’s the deadline. I didn’t tell the 8-year-old that definition.

I wonder when it became a business term, now being a key tool used to motivate us to accomplish something by a certain date.

To paraphrase Douglas Adams, “I love the whooshing sound deadlines make as they go past”. Fortunately, in this context, no one dies when they whoosh past.

There are two aspects to communities that define them: common ground, and, the boundaries.

The common ground is the similarities, the language, the ‘knowing winks’, the inherent sharing and coordination amongst similarities. The common ground represents the part of being human that humans crave: belonging to a community of similar thinking humans.

The other aspect of communities are the boundaries: the usually ill-defined “line” for which if you are inside it, then you’re inside the community.

Boundaries connect, but they can also cause alienation and discord. Boundaries are there to define, and by defining them, they can also inspire connection.

When you move house, or move office, you realise how important routines are. Moving disrupts those routines, because now the order and flow of work or tasks is different.

Not only are routines mixed up and need to be re-established, but where things are put needs to be re-established. The books don’t all fit in one room anymore. The storage space is in a different location, and your desk orientation is switch around.

These are disruptions that are not to be dismissed. Finding places for stuff (even electronically) is a key feature in being organised. And with organisation comes efficiency.

A thesaurus lists words in groups of synonyms and related concepts. Using a thesaurus on the word ‘thesaurus’ gives us synonyms and related concepts such as “vocabulary”, “glossary”, “phrasebook”, “word list”, and “lexicon”.

So, using a thesaurus on a word gives us a list of similar words and concepts, which might expand our understanding of the word.

We can extend the concept of a thesaurus into communities; the words and language used matters. A community will have a common ground in language and sense-making, like a thesaurus provides. Communities and groups have in-built thesaurus-like boundaries, to structure and organise around.