And how small moments of luck shape a career.

I’d done a lot of talks in schools and universities by the time I noticed the pattern.

The audience would be engaged throughout. They’d chuckle in the right places, nod, scribble notes, even lean forward when I talked about the parts that mattered. Then I’d reach the end, offer questions, and the room would do that familiar thing where everyone suddenly becomes fascinated by their shoes.

Shyness, impatience, fear of sticking out, a mixture of the three. It didn’t really matter why. The result was almost always the same. Silence which was uncomfortable for everyone.

I developed a standard closing line to break the tension, something like: “This is the bit where I ask if anyone has any questions, you all shuffle uncomfortably for a bit before your teacher asks one and we can all breathe a sigh of relief.” It usually got a laugh, and it gave everyone an easy way out.

One talk didn’t follow the script.

One day at a school in Faversham it went differently. I got to the end, did the standard close, and a student’s hand shot up immediately. I remember feeling a genuine flash of relief as I pointed at them, expecting something practical about courses, portfolios, or where to start, but they went somewhere else.

“Okay, so you did this, and this, and then this, which led to this… it can’t possibly have been that easy.”

It wasn’t rude. If anything it was perceptive. When you compress twenty years into twenty minutes, you end up with a career story that sounds suspiciously tidy, like a chain of dominoes that were always going to fall in that order. I took a breath, thought about it, and tried to answer honestly.

The thing about career stories

The first thing I said was obvious: I was compressing a lot. If you cut out the waiting, false starts, near misses, projects that went nowhere, and the months where you’re basically just trying to keep the lights on… anything can look like a straight line.

But there was another part I didn’t want to dodge, because it’s the part that actually matters. In a weird way, it almost was that easy.

Not because I’m especially clever, or the world was fair, or I had some perfect plan. It was “easy” for a simpler reason, I kept my eyes peeled for luck.

What I mean by luck

I don’t mean luck as in winning the lottery. I mean the small, ordinary, frequent kind that shows up as a chance conversation. An open door, an unexpected introduction, or a project slightly beneath your ambitions but right in front of you and ready to be turned into momentum.

I started calling them ‘luckticles’ years ago because it made the idea feel concrete. They’re everywhere, all the time, most people are surrounded by them but sadly never touch them.

Not because they’re lazy I don’t think, but because they’re waiting for something cleaner or more certain and that doesn’t require them to risk looking keen, awkward, or wrong. They want the opportunity that arrives with a stamp on it saying ‘this is the correct next step’. In my experience, that doesn’t exist.

‘The more I practice the luckier I get’

I used to ascribe the quote above to Nick Faldo but apparently it wasn’t him, it was Gary Player whoever that is?! I guess it doesn’t matter much, the point is that the only thing you can control is whether you’re moving enough to be in the way of luck, and whether you’re paying attention when it turns up.

In my case, when something even vaguely promising appeared, I tried to grab it. Not blindly, not at any cost, but with the assumption that motion creates options. I think a lot of what people call “luck” is really just accumulated responsiveness.

It looks less like a lightning bolt and more like a series of small decisions. You notice something, you follow up, you make something, you finish it, you show it to the right people, you stay in touch. You say yes slightly more than you say no, and you try to make it easy for someone to take a small chance on you.

Over time, that compounds. From the outside it can look like a smooth career. From the inside it feels more like being awake and ready, then doing the unglamorous work of turning a moment into a step.

My advice with the benefit of hindsight

If you’re starting out, I don’t think you need a perfect plan. You just need a posture.

Stay curious. Be the person who asks the question even when the room is quiet. Make things you can finish. Put yourself in places where interesting people are. Follow up when you say you will. Treat opportunities as something you participate in, not something you’re granted and… when a luckticle floats past… don’t just admire it. Grab it.

The practical version

The point of this post isn’t “follow these steps and you’ll be fine”. It’s that a lot of careers look inevitable in hindsight, but from the inside they’re mostly a series of small grabs at passing luck.

But, if you’d like some slightly more practical tips then do have a look at these other posts:

• Finding Your First Job: how to show proof of work and put yourself in the way of a first yes
• Non-Standard Careers Advice: the behaviours that compound (curiosity, kindness, bravery, momentum)