The Rubber Band and the Clay

Or: what happens when you keep saying yes to who you might become

I was up at 4am this morning, learning to code.

I have an engineering degree I walked away from a long time ago. Never looked back. And yet there I was, before dawn, in a coding bootcamp, listening to someone explain repositories and hosting and deployment pipelines — all parts of a world I’d never expected to be in — and feeling two completely different things at once.

Part of my brain was quietly locking in. Okay. That makes sense. I see how that connects. The structured part of me, the part that has always loved making sense of complex systems, was engaged. Alive, even.

And the other part was floating somewhere above the whole scene, asking a much simpler question: What on earth am I doing here?

—————————

The pace of AI isn’t just asking us to learn new things. It’s asking us to become new things.

Not all at once. But in a steady accumulation of small “yes-es”. Yes, I’ll try that tool. Yes, I’ll learn that workflow. Yes, I’ll show up for a coding bootcamp at 4am because apparently I can code now. Each yes manageable on its own. But each one stretching me a little further from who I was beforehand.

And somewhere in the middle of all this stretching, I started to wonder whether I might be losing myself.

Not dramatically. More like the edges of who I am are been pulled so wide that I’m not quite sure where my centre is anymore.

—————————

After the session, I sat quietly over my cup of tea — reflecting on who I am becoming, and also wondering whether losing my old self might be a necessary part of finding the new one.

And the image that came to mind was a rubber band.

It feels like I’m being stretched wider and wider — by AI, by how it is helping me explore capabilities I never expected to have. I’m covering more ground than I’ve ever covered; much of it entirely new. AI Advisor, Coder, newsletter writer. Founder of something that didn’t exist a year ago. I’m stretching myself across territories I never expected to occupy. And the feeling isn’t just expansion — it’s also tension.

Taut. Finite. Being stretched in multiple directions at once.

What if I snap?

What if I lose my old shape and can’t return to it — and can’t find a new one either?

—————————

I wasn’t alarmed. Which surprised me.

There is so much change happening right now — so much of it that I’m driving myself, so much of it that’s simply happening around me — that being pulled in so many directions feels, in some quiet way, inevitable. Fighting it isn’t going to work. It certainly isn’t going to serve me.

But the more I sat with the rubber band image, the more I realised it wasn’t right.

A rubber band is passive. It gets stretched by forces outside itself. It holds its tension until it either snaps or gets released back to its original shape. It doesn’t get a say. And I think that’s what makes this period so unsettling for so many of us — not the stretching itself, but the sense that something is being done to you rather than by you.

So I asked myself: what if I’m not a rubber band?

What if I’m clay?

—————————

Clay doesn’t snap. You can mould it, shape it — and reshape it. It’s grounded — literally of the earth.

But here’s when I realised. I wasn’t just the clay - I was also the one with my hands on it.

Both at once. Being shaped by everything happening around me — by AI, by the market, by conditions I didn’t choose — and at the same time, actively working the material. Pressing here. Pulling there. Trying out a form. Sitting back to see if it feels right. And when it doesn’t — when the shape that emerges doesn’t feel like me —pressing it back down and starting to work it again.

Not from scratch. From whatever shape I last was. With everything I’d already learned still in my hands.

That’s what was happening at 4am this morning. The world was expanding what was possible — learning to code — and somewhere underneath the syntax and the deployment pipelines, I was quietly deciding whether to let that become part of who I am.

Not should I learn this.

But is this me?

—————————

I think the quiet exhaustion so many of us feel right now isn’t really about the learning. It’s about this — the identity work happening underneath it, all the time, often without us noticing.

Every new capability we take on asks a question we didn’t sign up for. Every yes reshapes the edges a little. And right now, the “yes-es” are coming so fast that its hard to find the time so you can step back and say: right. This is the shape I’m in now.

The rubber band story says: you’re being stretched and it’s only a matter of time -before you snap or revert.

The clay story says: you’re in the middle of making something. You have agency in what it becomes. And the process — the pressing, the shaping, the sitting back to look — that is the work.

—————————

I still don’t know if coding is part of my future or just something I’ll explore for a few days this month. I don’t know what shape I’m becoming. I’m not sure anyone does, right now.

But I’ve stopped asking what if I snap?

I’m asking something quieter: what am I making?

You don’t need to know the final form to keep working the clay. You just need to keep your hands on it.

If you’re being pulled in directions you didn’t expect right now, I’d love to know: are you feeling more like a rubber band or more like clay?

— Sue

P.S. If this landed with you — if the identity question underneath the skills question feels real right now — I’ve just opened something called The Reorientation. A one-to-one programme for experienced professionals at a genuine career inflection point — who want dedicated space to work out what shape they’re becoming. Part strategic analysis. Part coached exploration. Tailored to your sector, your experience, and the decisions you’re facing.

Not a course. Not coaching in the traditional sense. Designed for exactly this moment — when you know something needs working through, but it’s too close to your identity to figure out alone.

This is the founding cohort — I’m accepting up to five people at a founding rate. If that sounds like where you are, I’d love to have a conversation: book a discovery call.

P.S. If you'd like to receive this in your inbox every fortnight: Subscribe here

Navigate Uncertainty. Lead Wisely. Stay Human. sue@uncertaintylab.com.au