One of the problems with funding models is that they can turn everything into a flowchart. We want systematic service delivery, with clear observable steps, key performance indicators and accountability built in. The tax payer deserves to know what their money is being spent on after all.

The trouble is that neither change, nor conversations about change, tend to follow the course outlined in those tidy pathways. It tends to be more fluid, more iterative and a whole lot messier.

Sometimes change is a plodding grind, tiny step after tiny step. Sometimes it leaps and crashes like a manic ballerina, or false starts like a unreliable lawnmower. Or darts in all directions like a hamster on amphetamines or slips on and off the path like a drunken snake. It might come in the form of a proud march toward victory or seemingly nothing before all the work beneath the surface pays off in a sudden, unexpected and dramatic transformation. Or a combination of some or all of the above or something entirely different.

Flowcharts are like the picture of a frozen meal on the outside of the cardboard box, an idealised representation, unlikely to be what you see when you open the lid. Luckily the nature of change is far more fascinating than that meal is likely to be. And if we can tune into this particular person’s rhythm, it might be easier to join them on their pathway.

We get into this work because we want to see people experience change for the better. Let’s face it, we love it. It might be when someone recovers from life-threatening illness or secures housing, when they take a risk to look after themselves better or pursue a dream, when they feel less tormented, more resourced, more supported or accept themselves that little bit more.

But the change we want to see starts with us. After all, we’re the only person in this equation that we have control over, and that control can feel tenuous at the best of times. It might be one thing we do that’s not fully aligned with our values. Perhaps we don’t feel as skilled as we could be in a certain area or a shortcut we know we often make. Maybe there is an area of knowledge we have skated over with superficial understanding, hoping it’s enough.

If we’re not careful, however, the list begins with a thoughtful observation and finishes with a tsunami of desired improvements that can overwhelm us or leave us feeling like we just don’t measure up. And then we try to tackle too many things at once or become paralysed by how much work we feel we need to do.

We want to keep growing at a sustainable pace, like a garden in rhythm with the seasons. Sometimes the changes may be hard to perceive from one day to the next. Other times we might have bursts of growth when we’re nourished and rested. Most of the time we just need one small step that moves us forward. And we can decide on the next step after that.

If we take on too much or try to grow in too many directions, we can use a lot of energy without getting all that much back for it. So we try again. Or try harder. Or try something else. Or stop trying.

It can help to take a step back from the specifics to clarify the essence of our intention. When we distill a current priority down to one word, it can become an anchor for a year, for a month, for today or just ‘for now’.

It might be a skill you want to practice – to listen, ask or reflect. Or a quality you want to embody – curiosity, respect or acceptance. Or the kind of relationship you want to foster with yourself and others – gentle, honest or brave. Or a habit you want to cultivate – to take action, say no or say yes. Or an aspiration you want to cultivate – adventure, connection or joy. Or perhaps it’s a word that gently brings you back to earth when it all feels a bit much – sufficient, messy or human.