Learn From Bilbo About Your Calling

It can come amidst complacency.

A few months ago, I was going for a walk in a park near my home, and as I entered the trail that traced a path through the woods, I came upon a young deer. This was a first for me, and if someone had told me I would be meeting a deer like this, I would have responded with delight and curiosity and wonder. However, in person, looking that deer in the eye, what I actually did was size him up and decide:  “I think I could take him.”

I’ve been stunned by my ability to flip into “Fight” mode. It seems so uncharacteristic. It’s not “me” at all. (Except for one tiny insignificant detail: It’s totally me.) If you threaten the people I care about, I won’t care if you are taller or more muscular than me. I will be incensed, and I will win!

I contrast that with the experience I often have, while watching the news. It’s a reasonable hope that I would respond to all of this news with resolve to fight against the systems of oppression that are rising up. But it’s not what happens.

Why? Perhaps it’s because I look at my gifts and those overwhelming problems, and I don’t see a match. I don’t believe I’ll win. Perhaps it’s because the way stories are told by my favored news sources, it doesn’t inspire like fiction sometimes can.

The best social justice organizations address this sense of helplessness. They tackle achievable goals and then help the people feel big enough so that we know, given enough time and persistence, we can win. 

But it requires each of us. If we take our eyes off the power of collective action and focus too much on the huge imbalance between our personal efforts and the enormity of the problems we face, then we stop. We are defeated by the fear of defeat.

Instead of settling for that result, I believe that we are each called to bring our gifts to help meet the challenges of this world. None of us are in this alone—we need to join together.

Bilbo was living a pretty complacent life.

The title of this post is taken from a story that, in my view, is a kind of heist story.  J.R.R. Tolkein wrote the story of a little creature–a Hobbit–named Bilbo. This was a huge adventure, a dangerous caper.  Toward the end of his life, Bilbo reflected on his call to adventure and told his nephew, “It’s a dangerous business, going out your door. You never know where you’ll be swept off to!”

At the beginning of his story (THE HOBBIT, by J.R.R. Tolkien), Bilbo is loving his quiet, agrarian life. Lots of food. Lots of restful pleasures. Until, one day, when Bilbo really did just go out his door, and he truly was swept up in the events he had joined. But it started much more slowly. When Bilbo was recruited by an old wizard named Gandalf and a team of Dwarves, he had no intention of going along with that crazy scheme.  

We can relate to this reluctance. Someone calls and asks “Will you go canvassing for such-and-such candidate,” and many of us (me, certainly) are quick to turn them down. I’m an introvert, I think. I don’t canvass.

Most of the time we resist our callings because they call us out of our habitual lives.  They call us into something bigger– and the part of us that loves safety and the status quo and fitting in says, “No thank you, I think I’ll stay here with what I’m doing.” And for most of us that resistance can last a very long time.

Now when Gandalf came to recruit Bilbo, he was clear about what he was looking for and offering.

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.”

“I should think so—” replied Bilbo. “We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!”

When he heard this, Gandalf just stood there, leaning on his stick, staring at Bilbo, until finally Bilbo became exasperated with him.

“Good morning!” he said at last. “We don’t want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over the hill or across the water.” By this he meant that the conversation was at an end.

Gandalf persisted in his efforts, however, and overcame Bilbo’s objections through persistence rather than logic. Bilbo became the thief for the party. He was the guy, in essence, who entered the vault and removed the prize for the team. But he was NOT a soldier. He was not the clever mastermind, or the wise counselor who helped other party members continue despite their fears. He was not even the scout who determined the best path to take. Others took those roles, each according to their gifts.

One person can’t do it all. But one person can contribute something critical.

How might your gifts meet a need in the world? Not by yourself, but in a team?

This is one of the questions that drives my work with every client I work with. As a leadership and career coach, my role is to help people find their team and their place on that team.

One of my earliest clients was a program director at a local nonprofit. She took an assessment to discover her strengths, and when we talked about them I discovered that she had WONDERFUL talents that many organizations are hungry for! 

As we talked through her unique genius, however, I noticed that her energy was surprisingly low. When I asked her what was going on, she said,“Yeah, but all that stuff is easy. Anybody can do that.”

I’ve seen this same dynamic happen many times since. It appears we don’t recognize our own gifts because we are too busy comparing our own deficiencies with other people’s abundance. We defeat ourselves before we begin. 

No wonder we seek comfort.

Here’s the thing: No one person can have all the strengths. What we can do, however, is own our talents and make sure we are contributing them.

Bilbo did not believe in his talents, but Gandalf saw something else in him. And, it turned out that Bilbo was an excellent burglar, and he loved doing it—even when it was risky.

It was so important that, when Gandalf called, Bilbo answered (even if it was with reluctance).

Who’s your Gandalf?

I have been privileged to have several important Gandalfs. One was my manager about a decade ago. (She was my age, BTW, even though I’m referring to her as a Gandalf!) She noticed the change in my energy and demeanor when I participated in a new initiative in our organization. 

One day she called me into her office and said, “Amy, I’m going to be restructuring our office, and I want you to know:  If you want to stay and have that secure job, you’ve got it. You have a home here as long as you want it. But, if you want to maybe find something that fits you better, I’ll support you in doing that.”

And then she said something I will never forget: “But here’s the thing: You have to choose. You can’t have both. Which one do you want?”

She forced a choice. Stay or go. It’s a masterful Gandalf move. 

(I chose to go, and she helped me more than you can imagine. It’s a great story… we just don’t have time for it today.)

Another one of my Gandalfs learned I was letting my student loan keep me anchored and unwilling to pay for further development. I had made excuses for years about paying the minimum on that loan every month.

But this Gandalf pushed me hard to pay off that loan–to make it my top-most priority. There would be no excuses. On her command, I figured it out. 

My Gandalfs made a huge difference in my life by calling me out of what I thought I knew into my possibilities.

A dozen years ago, I was in my cocoon of security. My work was not too challenging. I was qualified, and my coworkers were nice. The job even paid well enough to let me buy a house even though my husband wasn’t working at the time.

I remember the best part of each day. In the mornings I would wake up and make coffee. 

This was the highlight of the day. Getting out of bed, tramping into the kitchen, grinding the beans, pouring the water.

Everything that happened after I finished drinking that coffee was less interesting to me than that. I was disappointed with my life but reluctant to complain about it.

The contrast in my life between then and now is stark. I now have my own business. I work with clients for a few months or a few years, and eventually the coaching engagement ends. I have to do work that is challenging for me, both strategically and emotionally, for each new engagement.

But, even though I still love making my coffee in the morning, that is no longer the best part of my day.

I don’t want to be complacent and just let an employer determine what skills I develop or how to invest in ME. An employer will rightfully only develop me in ways that fit THEM best. My business allows me to make sure I am developing in ways that fit me best.

What drives me is what I get to do now.  I get to walk with people. I get to listen to them. I ask questions that invite them into places they have not thought to go before. I get to create and bring together the very best of everything I’ve learned into the service of meeting my client’s needs. I get to apply all my strengths to meeting the needs of this world.

And this is where I take a sharp turn out of my story and back into yours, because the point isn’t about me—it’s about all of us.

The point is what you do with a chance.  You take it… because it just might be the start of something incredible.  

The world is hungering for service and leadership. It can be overwhelming. It is risky. But if we stand together, each bringing our gifts, each looking for ways to support each other through these dark days, we can stand in that fire.

Through the roar, through the rush, through the throng, through the crush, do you hear in the hush of your soul, of your soul?

Hear the cry fear won’t still, hear the heart’s call to will, hear a sigh’s startling trill in your soul, in your soul. ~”Do You Hear?” by Emily Thorn

If, somehow — through the roar of social media, through the rush of change, through the throng of our overpopulated world, through the crush of daily bad news — if somehow you think you might hear your heart’s call to will – I invite you to take the risk of articulating to another human being what you are hearing. And I would love to have coffee with you (or hear from you otherwise) and hear what you hear.