Demanding integrity is not an unreasonable philosophical position for anyone to take. Expecting it, however, results in an unseen form of psychological warfare, that while damaging to our relationships with others, is rooted in an unacknowledged torturing of ourselves. Rather than being at peace with our experience as it is, we enact shame, guilt and humiliation upon ourselves for not always being perfectly in integrity - regardless of whether or not we’re aware of it.

At least that’s how it was for me.

My work over the last six years or so, as I withdrew almost terminally into the background, has been to make peace once more with reality, to forgive myself for my varied hypocrisies, and keep moving forward in spite of them.

Back in 2005, as I was preparing to split my company into three separate divisions, I was also holding space, as some would say, for self-enquiry in the Advaita Vedanta tradition. But the more time I spent listening, reflecting, and speaking with the diversity of people who were drawn to this work, the more I came to realise that the practice of self enquiry at least in the west, wasn’t particularly widespread. Further, it often seemed to result in some degree of taking refuge in the absolute, a well known phenomenon of wilful disengagement from the chaos of the world.

It occurred to me that while I had become relatively adept at exploring the intersection between one’s experience and reality, maintaining the distinction between who we are and what we do wasn’t always so easy. For anyone.

As Canadian born educator John de Ruiter once said:

"Just because you know who you are, it doesn’t mean you’re being what you know.”

Consequently, while the quest to end one’s own suffering (and, by extension, the suffering of others) certainly appeared noble, and was significant in terms of the impacts a quietening of the mind can have, even a complete cessation of individual suffering would be meaningless to others if it didn’t take its roots in action.

Frankly, what we do matters more to most, than the ephemeral value of knowing who we are.

As the Dalai Lama once said: “...prayer is not enough”.

What was obvious to me was that when it comes to doing, the one thing we do more than anything in our lives other than sleep, is work.

Whether we’re working at school, or working at work, or working on vocational projects, the human experience, for better or worse, is a limitless ocean of doing.

So what would it look like if, rather than sitting in rooms of (largely) quiet reflection and discussion to better understand and thus better ourselves, we moved the context of this enquiry into the workplace?

How would it be if the 150,000 odd hours of our working life we were not merely geared towards what we do but also who we are?

What if, rather than seeking congruence solely in ourselves, we rooted the foundation of our organisations in such a way that it afforded congruence to all?

As a writer, speaker, and consultant, and as a human first, my focus has been inexorably drawn to integrity. Not as a moral assessment, but as it was originally conceived. Integrity has its roots in the Lain integritatem, meaning ‘soundness, wholeness, completeness’. So when impact entrepreneurs connected with me, they overtly gave me permission to investigate themselves and their business, and to root out the places where their organisation lacked integrity.

Checking for integrity isn’t always a gentle process, however, and faced with the urgency of our human situation, I adopted interrogation as a principle mode of enquiry. Not in the pejorative sense, but in the original sense of a relentless search for the truth.

As I prepared to execute on the splitting of our company, Icologi was intended to be the brand name for the company that would encapsulate my consulting practice. We had a fully formed brand strategy and brand identity, and were preparing to sign it off. Which was when a junior designer, in town on a working visa from Canada, spoke up and said we had it all wrong.

And that completely altered the trajectory of my life.

“This business is about you. And that brand is not you at all. You hold your clients to account. Icologi is a great brand, but it’s not you! You need something that arrests people's attention. They need to know what they’re getting into before they even make contact with you.”

So we went back to the drawing board, and in a very short space of time, we had it.

It said all I really wanted to say, and all I had been demanding of myself for years.

At home in France, “je demandé” translates literally in English to “I demand”. It’s not used in all contexts, but it’s extraordinarily common. Trying to make an appointment to view a house? “Je demande un rendezvous”. Or an appointment with the government? “Je demande un rendezvous”. Or with your childs teacher? The same.

In fact, “je demande” is often followed by a list. A list of demands.

Think about what it must be like to live in a society where it’s both commonplace to list your demands, and to do so in a way that isn’t demanding.

Which brings us full circle to my very first point.

I had created a brand that was making demands - of myself and the world.

And when I found myself incapable of meeting those demands, I burned out, and in my confused, frustrated, and stressed out state, I leap-frogged the ‘seek forgiveness’ stage and progressed immediately towards ‘divine retribution’.

Upon myself.

Working as a strategist and systems designer, my role is to interrogate the desired outcomes intended to be achieved by existing systems, determine if those outcomes are being met, and co-design alternatives that better meet the desired outcomes. “Systems design” as I’ve noted elsewhere, is a necessary precursor to “systems engineering”, which is the operational backbone of creating “systems change”.

It’s an increasingly common occupation, given the observable decline, decay and destruction of the various ecological, social and economic systems we rely upon for our survival.

Most of the people I know (or know of) who are working on systems change for a more thriving planet (inclusive of people as a priority), ingest extraordinary volumes of information about the state of the world. We spend a lot of time understanding what’s not working, in order to seek to understand why it’s not working. We observe human suffering, in all its forms.

And as Neichtze famously said in Beyond Good and Evil:

"... if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

It's not uncommon at all for impact entrepreneurs to become angry, burned out and demoralised. It can be challenging to set the orientation of your professional life towards addressing intractable problems, and to observe that, despite the enormous investments of time, talent and treasure, it seems like nothing much has changed.

For me, after having burned out twice in the last decade, and almost losing everything I value more than once, it's been important to recognise that while the world values what I do, more than who I am, it's only in coming home to my self that there is any possibility of knowing peace.

For if I measure my worth against the change I have a hand in creating, I will always find myself lacking. But if I consider integrity to be a way of approaching my life and my work, rather than a staff to beat myself with, I find considerably more satisfaction, enjoyment, and love.

I believe that robust public discourse is essential, and that impact entrepreneurs can and should find ways to learn from each others challenges and successes. What has your experience with integrity been? Where have you struggled, and what have you learned?Please share your experience in the comments below.