Professional development: What's in your transferrable skills rucksack?

Obligatory flat lay photo of backpacking gear.

Since I became old enough to start getting earnest questions about what I wanted to do with my life, I have wished for a mentor to come along, take one look at me and say, 'Ah, yes. You are clearly meant to be a ______.' I had enough ideas to fill in the blank dozens of times over, and while I can still look at lots of careers and think they seem interesting, none have ever sparked me enough to make me commit to pursuing them. I felt like this was unusual. After all, my brother has wanted to be an illustrator since he was old enough to hold a pencil, and that's what he is today. My best friend growing up wanted to be a vet, and sure enough, that's what she's doing. I felt surrounded by people who had a vision of what their lives would be, and worked hard to achieve it.

But that wasn't how it happened for me. Instead, up until this point in my late 30s, I have followed what has interested me at the time. This has been rewarding in its own way; I have never stagnated, and I have been willing to risk stability in favour of exploration. I left the world of libraries and started this blog three years ago not knowing exactly where I was going, but knowing that I wanted to get off of the beaten path in front of me and head into the unknown. 

Yet I've still been pestered with this thought that I have One True Calling that I just need to uncover and then I can devote myself to achieving that vision. I know that I want to do good work, but I felt uncertain about where and what. It was in part this uncertainty that led me to contact a career counsellor earlier this year. This has been an incredibly useful experience, not because it filled in the blank I kept expecting someone to fill in for me, but because it helped me feel much more comfortable not knowing exactly what job title I would have, as long as I am doing work I care about, with people I respect, and using skills I enjoy using. I feel much more at ease not having a 10 Year Plan, and instead have a much better understanding of what I'm good at.

Because I'm me, I likened this skills focus to having a rucksack I could carry around with me, filled with my transferrable skills. When I'm hiking, I don't have to know exactly what situation I'll find myself in, but I know I'll be okay as long as I have tools I can use in multiple different contexts. Every hiker knows the 10 Essentials, including first aid, shelter and means of ignition, and we learn to always bring some piece of gear with us that serves those purposes. By reviewing situations I might find myself in, I can determine if I'm missing any tools from my rucksack, or if I might need to upgrade them. For example, if I usually only carry a rain jacket but I think I'm likely to see heavy rain, I might upgrade my waterproofing to include rain pants as well.

The same is true of skills. I already have a pretty good set of transferrable skills, and after my career counselling I know more clearly which I like using and which I want to use more. I've also looked at multiple different roles that looked interesting and found out that I might need to develop some new skills to complement the ones I already have.

My transferrable skills rucksack

• Vision - Vision is like a map giving you an overview of the entire trail you're planning to take. You know where you want to go, how to get there, and you can see the whole context in which you're working, and vision gives you the option to change direction and take a different path if you want.
• Empathy - If vision is my map, then empathy is my compass that keeps me consistent with my values and tells me where to go.
• Developing others' ideas - I'm going to say that this skill is like a camera. It's taking my own personal lens to what hundreds of people have seen before me, selecting what I think is interesting, and reflecting it back to people. I'm less artistic than I am creative, and my creativity is especially good around looking at what others have done and finding ways that they might make it better by asking good questions or approaching it in a different way.
• Researching and organising information - This has to be a workhorse item, something I use often but don't necessarily love. I'm going to say it's my tent, because sometimes I pack it away and sometimes it encompasses everything I do. It's a means to an end. It's an imperfect metaphor, though, because I have two tents I actually really love.
• Determination and patience - When I think of determination, I think of my feet pounding away at the miles on a trail, so let's say determination is like a great pair of hiking shoes keeping you moving forward and cushioning you against the sharp rocks and roots underfoot. The problem is, one pair of shoes will only get you so far, so remember to stop and repair or replace your shoes every once in a while or they'll get worn out!
• Flexibility - Duct tape is great. You can use it repair gear, prevent blisters or even keep a wound clean when you're in the backcountry, days away from the nearest bar of soap. You probably won't use it often, but it's great to have along for how many uses it has. Flexibility is a lot like that.
• Writing, editing and communicating - I spent some time trying to think of the best gear analogy for this, and I couldn't come up with the right fit. It would have to be something that feels almost as natural to use as breathing, that is never a struggle to use, that sustains me and I never want to be without. Then I found it: writing is like water. I need it to survive, and I crave it when I don't have enough. This is not to say I'm great at it, or even particularly good. It's just to say that I love it and no matter what I do, I will always write. 

So, what's in your transferrable skills rucksack? Are any of the skills you want to use a little rusty, like an out-of-date guidebook or a tent with a hole in it? Then you can work on them. Are you lugging around a skill you love but don't use? Maybe find a way to use it in your current role. What's a skill you have that you feel is underrated? Do you have a different metaphor for your skills?

The Agony of The Feet

This post was written as part of my career counselling to help identify patterns from moments I worked toward a goal (from 'What Colour is Your Parachute?'). I thought it made a good account of my solo thru hike of the Hadrian's Wall Path in October 2019 so I'm posting it here.

“Hi everyone. Today I finished the first part of my goal, which was hiking the Hadrian’s Wall Path, about 95 miles. That means that tomorrow, when I finish the rest of my goal, I will have hiked over 100 miles, which is the most I’ve ever walked in one go. It’s extra impressive because it’s my first backpacking trip by myself and I’ve been in pain since day 2, and when I say ‘in pain’, I mean that every step has hurt.”

Watching a video I recorded of myself on my phone, sitting in a budget hotel room in Newcastle, I can hear the frailty in my own voice and can see the film of tears beginning to form over my eyes. “I’ve completely trashed my feet this week, I’ve been in tears thinking, ‘I never want to hike again’, which is really hard to admit... I was so discouraged that I was thinking, ‘Do I even want to finish the hike?’” 

I remember that moment, recording that video, with a vividness borne of physical pain and raw emotions. My throbbing, swollen feet were propped up on a stack of pillows and my wet socks and boots were drying by the radiator. I had been hiking for 6 days across northern England in cloudy, cold, wet October weather, and I was reaching out to the people following my hike to encourage them to donate money to Wintercomfort, a Cambridge-based charity serving homeless and insecurely housed people. My goal was to walk coast-to-coast by myself to raise £300 for the charity, and I only had one more day of walking left, but I didn’t know if I could do it.

Day 1 had started out easy enough. I had caught the train to Carlisle the previous evening and the first day took me from the coast back to Carlisle, so I took advantage, booked two nights at a cheap hotel and left my backpack there for the day. I made the miles quickly and sheltered from a rainstorm for the afternoon. Day 2 was a longer day, however, and now I had my tent, sleeping set up, stove, food, water, extra clothes and so on to carry on my back. I knew it would be wet, so I’d chosen to wear a pair of water-proof winter hiking boots that I hadn’t broken in yet and were in my normal shoe size. By the afternoon of this second day, I was seriously worried about getting to my campsite before dark, and my feet were beginning to swell into the limited space in my boots. I sat down and cried in a wet field full of sheep, wishing I could quit for the day - stop walking and pitch my tent among the sheep - but having no choice but to press on until I reached somewhere to stay for the night.

That evening, after resting my feet for a bit, I could barely hobble for the swelling. “Okay,” I thought, “I’ll lace my boots a bit looser and maybe that will help.”

Over the next four days, I made my way over the wet, muddy landscape, following the bones of the ancient defences that marked the very edge of the Roman Empire before its fall. I camped in grassy fields beaded with rain and awoke before sunrise every morning to pack up my wet belongings and head further East, breath emerging in clouds, posting photos and videos along the way and reminding people to donate if they could. Words of encouragement came in through my fundraising page, but they felt faint and far away as I sank shin-deep into mud. I berated myself for not walking faster, for not being stronger, for being in pain.

“I actually spoke aloud something I realised yesterday,” I told my phone while walking through a cloudy day on the scenic, rolling Whin Sill section, recounting an impactful conversation with another hiker the previous evening. “I drive myself super hard and I always thought it was coming from other people, but it really is coming from me. And I have the power to change that.”

Over the daily miles I would experience ups and downs, unrelated to the undulations underfoot, that felt raw and pure and uncomplicated. In the morning I would get up full of optimism, and by the afternoon the pain in my feet would have increased and cast a pall on my mood. I learned this pattern, and learned that it would pass, comforted myself with music or podcasts when I got low, and drove myself forward with my intention to reach the other side of the country, my pain made meaningful by the donations coming in.

That brings us to the hotel in Newcastle, where my feet and legs were in so much pain that I was considering giving up and going straight home the following day. Would it really be so bad to quit? I rationalised as I nursed my aching extremities. I’ve accomplished one goal by hiking the whole of Hadrian’s Wall. How much do the last 6 miles really matter to anyone besides me? Will I be causing a long-term injury by proceeding? Will I even be able to walk tomorrow?

I had been cast into this dismal mood at Wallsend by an anti-climax at the end of the trail, coupled with the fact that once my bag was set down and my shoes were off, I could barely hobble down the hall to dinner in the hotel restaurant as the swelling in my feet made it feel like walking on bags of water and pain shot up my legs. I took a photo of my feet propped up on their tower of pillows and they were visibly puffy, having grown at least one shoe size within my too-tight boots. As every day on the trail had increased the pain in my feet and legs, I had doubts as to whether or not I’d be able to tough it out in the morning. 

In the video, I'm honest about this. “When I finally dragged myself back to Newcastle, where I’m staying tonight, I was thinking, ‘Do I even want to finish the coast-to-coast? Do I even want to do I even want to do those last 6 miles tomorrow if it’s going to be such a let down?’ And of course I do. Of course. I set out to walk coast-to-coast, and I’ve been wanting to do that for a really long time. Whatever my feet feel like tomorrow, I’m going to get up and I’m going to walk the rest of the way.”

There’s a stubbornness in my voice that I had often characterised as martyrdom before, but now I was starting to recognise what it really was: Grit. I had learned to take better care of myself, to rest when I needed, to not berate myself so much, to make adjustments to achieve my goals, but that didn’t mean letting myself off the hook. I had to try.

First thing in the morning, I got dressed and packed my bag, and walked gingerly down to the restaurant for breakfast. The last day of walking was unremarkable; hugging busy roads, snaking through residential streets and alongside shipping yards. It was hardly glamorous hiking. My feet throbbed and my Achilles tendon rubbed painfully against the back of my boot. My knees ached and I listened to music all morning to keep my mind off of the pain and the lacklustre scenery.

Then I saw the North Sea.

It was another hour of walking through port towns, taking a ferry across the river to South Shields, finding yet another Roman fort attraction closed for the season, and then finally I crested a hill, eased myself down a long flight of concrete steps, and slowly approached the sea. I filmed my feet walking across the sand. It was a long walk, as the tide was out, and then filmed my hand throwing a piece of ceramic I’d carried from the other coast into the water, then turned the camera toward my face.

This time, I was crying tears of pride and gratitude. I put my hand to my cracked lips and looked out to sea, nodding to myself, a smile fighting with the tears. I wanted to say, “Well, I did it! I’m here!” or sum up the trip in some pithy, memorable way, but as I looked at the camera, all I could do was wipe my running nose on my sleeve and give a thumbs up. I did it.

Over the course of seven days, I walked the breadth of England and raised over £450 for Wintercomfort. I coached myself through some mental and physical hardships, and felt free and far away, totally comfortable in the silence of my own company. I knew deep down that if I set a goal for myself, I would do everything in my power to achieve it.

Four Futures, One Choice - A Summary and a summary

Well, it's been approximately 1,000 years since I posted. Through June and July I started several drafts of posts that needed a lot of time and research, and so they were abandoned as I was unable to provide either. Maybe you'll see them someday, who knows.

I don't want to let this blog die a death, though, so I wanted to provide an update that might go some way to explaining my wayward blogging habit. Since July, I've co-written a book. That's right, an honest-to-gosh book.

Four Futures, One Choice presents us with four compelling scenarios that provide us with an insight into how we can take swift and decisive actions, that will not only aid the COVID-19 recovery, but also help develop a built environment that supports a flourishing future and reduces our negative impact on the global environment. 

Of the four future scenarios presented there are two that are clearly preferable – focused on a sustainable, equal and diverse world within which Britain’s economy, society and environment can thrive. Given the unprecedented opportunity we’ve been presented with, we can’t stand still any longer. We have the choice, let’s make it now. 

It's based on research I did with a group of postgrads I work adjacent to, and owing some inspiration to The Future We Choose by Christiana Figueres and Tom Rivett-Carnac, a book that I assumed I reviewed here but haven't so I'll have to add that to the list of posts I need to get round to. We co-wrote an academic article together, and I had the privilege of turning that paper into a book for a general audience, but also targeted to the construction industry in the UK to inspire change.

We also produced a summary to "tease" the book ahead of its launch. You can find it here, where you'll also be able to download the e-book when it's released in December.

I feel very proud and very privileged to have worked on this project, and I hope it is thought provoking and makes a real difference.

80 things we should know in a digital built environment

I recently encountered a delightful piece written by the late, great architect Michael Sorkin called Two Hundred Fifty Things an Architect Should Know. I promise it's not a listicle and Number 7 won't shock you. It's a really thought-provoking read, and reminded me immediately of Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird by Wallace Stevens, a favourite poem of mine.

My day job involves research and writing about digitalisation in the built environment, particularly with the aim of making it a platform for human flourishing. Because I'm not a technical specialist, an architect or engineer myself, my focus is much more on how we can harness data and information to promote good for people and the planet, and what we need to know as a society to realise that future. More than ever, we have the opportunity to choose where we're going, but changing directions requires a clear vision of what could be. So, with my apologies to Sorkin, I thought I would have a go at my own version of his piece:

80 things we should know in a digital built environment

1. How to manage information.
2. How to use information.
3. How to share information.
4. How to make decisions.
5. New ways of making steel.
6. How to use less of it.
7. How humans and algorithms can both do the work they're best at.
8. What architects know and how to ask them.
9. What voters know and how to ask them.
10. What children know and how to ask them.
11. Supply chain optimisation.
12. Human rights law.
13. Ontology
14. Epistemology.
15. Encryption.
16. The energy potential of the wind.
17. Building Information Modelling (BIM).
18. What data the client wants.
19. What data the client thinks it wants.
20. What data the client needs.
21. What data the client can afford.
22. Bayesian probability theory.
23. The Gemini Principles.
24. How to ensure a steady supply of clean water for the next 500 years.
25. How to build a tunnel without emitting carbon.
26. How to design a street for cyclists.
27. The number of people in a public square, but not their names.
28. The concerns of an elderly woman in Peckham.
29. The value of a hospital.
30. The value of a nurse.
31. The value of attention.
32. The value of wild places.
33. The value of oil when it is left in the ground.
34. How to build resilient infrastructure.
35. How to federate data.
36. How to protect data.
37. How to put a roof over the head of anyone that needs one.
38. How to feed, clothe and pay people without emitting carbon.
39. The carbon storage capacity of a skyscraper made of wood.
40. How a skyscraper made of wood makes people feel.
41. Why more people of colour died of Covid-19 than white people.
42. How to design a built environment that eradicates that gap.
43. The Golden Thread of Information.
44. The limits of our understanding.
45. How to visualise complexity in systems.
46. How to visualise uncertainty in data.
47. How to read a digital twin.
48. Ways of navigating digital content with a sensory disability.
49. How to ensure that everyone who works in a city can afford to live there.
50. Who is responsible.
51. The lifecycle of a building.
52. The impact of the Three Gorges Dam on the Yangtze River Dolphin.
53. The power of green infrastructure.
54. Algorithmic bias.
55. Universal design.
56. Participatory design.
57. Computer Aided Design (CAD).
58. Design for repair and re-manufacture.
59. Integration Architecture.
60. Moral philosophy.
61. Modern Methods of Construction.
62. Biodiversity.
63. Neurodiversity.
64. How to eliminate waste.
65. How to trust an algorithm.
66. When not to trust an algorithm.
67. The value of immeasurable things and the immeasurable value of things.
68. How to get from London to Madrid without emitting carbon.
69. How to make new buildings out of old ones.
70. The ROI of delight.
71. The limits of growth.
72. What infrastructure we need.
73. Where we need it.
74. When we need it.
75. Who needs it.
76. What the planet can afford.
77. The consequences of our actions.
78. Compassion.
79. The future we want for us, for our children, for our grandchildren.
80. How to get there.

Long time hiker, first time gardener

Connecting with nature has never been hard for me. I'm one of the lucky people who had access to a car for most of my life and so could get out of the city and into less developed areas relatively frequently. I grew up with a small woodland next to my house and ran around it barefoot as a child, watching ferns unfold and picking huckleberries in the springtime. I then went to a university based in a rural area, where walks in the woods were part of everyday life, and as an adult I've been exploring the hiking trails that the UK has to offer for years now.

Connecting to nature on a trail means seeing panoramas you've never seen, encountering wild animals you wouldn't see in your back yard, marvelling over trees as tall as skyscrapers or witnessing the power of the oceans as they erode the rocks on which you stand. But what happens when you can't make that connection anymore? What happens when you're told to stay at home, to stick to your suburban neighbourhood in the Fens of East Anglia, as flat as flat can be?

I'm still counting myself lucky. I live in a house with a modest garden that we had just remodelled, so we've had a lot of planting and painting and prepping to do before it's ready for summer. This project has really saved my mental health during this time. It's physical, it's outdoors, and there's measurable progress, not to mention a steep learning curve.



I've planted a bed with hellebore and ferns that reminds me of my beloved Pacific Northwest woodlands, and another with bulbs that will bloom at different times of year in shades of purple. I've planted strawberries, blueberries and a little herb garden outside the kitchen door, and my partner is tending a vegetable patch using the guide Veg in One Bed. Already we've harvested several salads and about a dozen radishes, and we're looking forward to supplementing our meals with vegetables we've grown at home for the first time in my adult life. There is something so gratifying about that, perhaps not as much as climbing a mountain and seeing the view from the top, but still, gardening rewards patience with a feeling of deep satisfaction.

But for those who don't have a garden of their own, there are still ways of connecting with nature, whether it's identifying the trees in your local park using the Woodland Trust Tree ID app, learning the names of flowers you walk past with the Seek app, or becoming an urban botany teacher by writing the names of plants on the sidewalk in chalk. I am thoroughly enjoying the efforts of those doing the latter on the More Than Weeds Twitter account, as it's helping me connect with nature in a totally unexpected way. Lately I've been looking more closely at the flowers and plants growing out of pavements and brick walls all around me as I take my daily walks around my neighbourhood.

If you feel like you're missing nature due to the #UKlockdown, and are able to go out briefly, take a moment to observe your surroundings. Even if you live in a city, try to spot the small plants growing on pavements. These "weeds" are part of our #everydaynature! #morethanweeds pic.twitter.com/5OTPCUcE26

— Morethanweeds (@morethanweeds) March 24, 2020

Of course I am sad about the situation in the world, for the sake of all those suffering and for my own more petty disappointments; in an alternate timeline I was to be hiking the West Highland Way with my brother and sister-in-law right now. But this has been a chance for me to connect with nature in a new way, by growing my own food and by learning the names of the unassuming but beautiful plants that make their homes in our built environment when given half a chance. Our urban obsession with tidiness is robbing us of miniature meadows all around us and I hope that after this we will be a little less quick with the lawn mower on verges and in parks. Nature thrives when we leave it alone, even in the most built-up of places.

Move into May with National Walking Month

This article first appeared in the Cambridge University Environment and Energy newsletter.

May 2020 is National Walking Month and, given that it’s currently one of the government-sanctioned forms of daily exercise in the UK, walking may already be a regular and cherished part of your day. If you're yet to get into walking however, or are just starting out, I’m here to share some ideas about taking those first steps, finding walks local to you and creating adventure close to home.

You don’t need an Instagram-worthy mountain view to enjoy walking. In fact, it’s one of the most accessible ways of moving your body whilst gaining the wellbeing benefits of being outside and clearing your mind. In her book Wanderlust, Rebecca Solnit says, “Walking allows us to be in our bodies and in the world without being made busy by them. It leaves us free to think without being wholly lost in our thoughts.” Especially now, when many of our normal forms of exercise and ways of being in the world have changed, walking is something that could help us reconnect to ourselves and our surroundings in difficult times.

Most of us know how good walking can be for mental and physical health. But if you’ve been meaning to start and haven’t yet been able to work it into your lockdown routine, consider only listening to a favourite audiobook or podcast when you’re out for a walk, extending your trip to the shops by taking a detour to the local park, or setting yourself a scavenger hunt. Logging walks through the Cambridge staff running group on Strava or another virtual club can be a great way of staying motivated by being part of a community of like-minded people. Online resources like Walks with Wheelchairs and The Outdoor Guide provide information about wheelchair and pushchair accessible trails so that those with impaired mobility can also enjoy the benefits of getting outside. Please bear in mind that some managers of popular trails like the National Trust are either recommending against or outright banning use of their trails at the time of writing, so check before you go.



If you’re already a keen walker like I am, you might be feeling frustrated at cancelled spring hiking plans, but now is a good time to reconnect with what you really love about hiking in the first place, like the meditative feel of walking and observing nature. Those things are just as available to you on a walk around your local park as they are on a remote trail. When you’re stuck indoors you could use the time to start planning your next dream walk by looking over guidebooks and maps, or researching gear and testing it out at home. If you prefer digital ways of planning, I’ve used both ViewRanger and All Trails to plan walks, both of which have crowd-sourced reviews and accessibility information about the trails. You can save a list of your favourites for future adventures. Apps like these are also a great way of finding new places to walk near you.

If you can’t wait until the lockdown ends, the Ordnance Survey Get Outside champions have some great ideas for scratching your adventure itch without roaming too far from home. How about taking part in a step challenge with your family, colleagues or your whole Department? The British Heart Foundation have shared a resource giving the equivalent footsteps it takes to virtually climb landmarks, like Snowdon, Big Ben and even Mount Everest, using your own stairs!

Whenever you do go out and walk, please stay safe and ensure that you are following the government’s latest guidelines. The Ramblers also have some great guidance on walking responsibly in the current situation, including avoiding touching gates and railings with your hands where possible and timing your walk to avoid crowds. Wherever your feet or wheels take you, take a deep breath, enjoy the time you get outdoors and remember to look after your local communities and ecosystems!

Further resources:

Ordnance Survey Greenspace: OS have mapped green spaces across the UK and it’s a great way of identifying new places near you that might make a pleasant walk.
Living Streets: This group campaigns for greater access to pedestrian friendly urban spaces based on the wellbeing benefits of walking. They also have great ideas for urban walks.
Just Walk: As the founders of National Walking Month, British Heart Foundation have resources to help you set walking challenges and raise money at the same time, a great way to get excited about walking.
Ramblers: The UK’s largest walking organisation, the Ramblers, have plenty of resources to help you plan walks, as well as advocating for the protection of pedestrian access in the countryside.

Information skills for hikers: planning a walk

Today I wanted to do something a little different and feature a video from a creator I follow that's relevant to this channel. It features one of the many aspects I talked about in my long post on why hikers need information skills. I'm thinking of breaking that post down and going into more detail on each topic. Let me know what you think about this idea and what you'd like me to tackle first in the comments.

Some of you might find this a little basic, but it's a really good, detailed primer if you're just getting started with route planning.

Abbie's UK thru-hike videos are really lovely to watch before a long hike. She gives you a bit of history, a bit of botany, a bit of geology and plenty of enthusiasm for the landscapes of the UK. If you're thinking of trying a section hike or a thru-hike on one of the national trails in Britain, check out her videos to get a really good taster and plenty of information about points of interest. Also, cheers for the shout out to libraries, Abbie!

For those who prefer a high tech version of planning, my partner and I have used an app called ViewRanger for years to plan and track our hikes. We've bought the Ordnance Survey map set for the entire UK and much of the West Coast of America, which we've found pretty cost effective as opposed to paying for the tiles one by one, given how often we hike and in how many different areas. You can start out with reviewed routes uploaded by other users or organisations, and when you're confident enough you can map out your own before you go.