Work has always existed within changing conditions. What often makes work feel uncertain is not change itself, but our difficulty seeing the full landscape we are navigating.
Economic shifts, new technologies, and evolving expectations continually reshape how work is organized and valued. Artificial intelligence, remote work, and changing ideas about productivity and return on investment are only the most visible examples. What matters more is how individuals understand and respond to these shifting conditions.
When facing a decision—whether a career change, a new role, or an unexpected disruption—it helps to first consider what is often called the lay of the land. This means more than noticing what is immediately visible. It involves understanding the forces shaping the environment, the constraints that exist, and the variables that may not be obvious at first glance.
Equally important is recognizing that the same landscape does not feel the same to everyone.
I learned this lesson years ago through running. Training on the same hills with a running partner revealed how differently identical terrain could be experienced. Though similar in size, we moved through the hills in opposite ways. Downhill running was harder for me, while uphill felt easier. For my partner, the experience was reversed. Same hills. Same route. Very different effort.
Work unfolds in much the same way. Two people can enter the same organization, industry, or economic moment and experience it entirely differently. Skills, temperament, physical and emotional limits, and personal history all shape how manageable or overwhelming a landscape feels.
Finding meaningful work requires an honest understanding of both the terrain and oneself. Without clarity about who we are—our strengths, limits, and preferences—it is difficult to assess whether a particular environment is sustainable or aligned with where we want to go.
This is where reflection matters as much as strategy.
A short poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox captures this idea well. While the winds of fate affect everyone, it is the way we set our sails that determines our direction. Circumstances influence outcomes, but they do not eliminate agency. Choices still exist, even when conditions are imperfect or uncertain.
Periods of change often bring uncomfortable questions. Has the environment shifted in ways we didn’t anticipate? Are the skills we relied on still sufficient? Has our sense of direction changed along with the landscape?
Work Matters was written to help readers ask these questions more clearly. Not by offering guarantees or rigid answers, but by encouraging a deeper understanding of how work, identity, and change interact over time.
We cannot control the wind. But we can learn to read the terrain more honestly—and adjust how we move through it.
