Before You Ride Down the Mountain
I’ve always loved the idea of a bold career move. I've taken one or two. But I'm less enthusiastic about discovering, mid-descent, that I confused courage with preparation.
That's why, in recent weeks as I've been shaping my own next chapter, I found myself thinking about Banjo Paterson's poem “Mulga Bill's Bicycle.” Paterson may be better known to some readers for “Man from Snowy River,” but Mulga Bill deserves a special place in the career-transition canon.
At least as a warning.
Mulga Bill is an experienced horseman who buys a bicycle, assumes his riding skills will transfer neatly to this “shining new machine,” and proceeds to learn, at speed, that confidence is not the same thing as competence.
The poem ends with Bill’s wrecked bicycle abandoned in a creek. Which, in fairness, is one way to complete a change-management cycle.
But it didn’t have to end that way. Bill’s mistake wasn’t that he tried something new, it was assuming that mastery in one context immediately made him master in another.
That’s an easy mistake to make in our careers.
Senior leaders often assume that because they’ve led large functions, built teams, transformed systems, or solved complex business problems, they can automatically translate that into an independent career, consulting model, or professional reinvention.
And often, they can. But not effortlessly.
When the terrain changes, the vehicle is new, the audience shifts - the instincts that made you effective in one chapter may need to be adapted, sharpened, and translated for the next one.
I recognized that as I began making my own career shift recently. I received several strong recommendations about Kate’s work with leaders making this kind of transition, so I sought her advice.
That guidance helped me clarify my story, refine my positioning, and build a sharper go-to-market path. I worked with Kate not because I lacked capability, but because capability and clarity are different assets. That distinction matters.
A bold career move doesn’t become less brave because you get advice before making it. You’re not avoiding the mountain, you’re understanding it before you point your front wheel downhill and hope your experience solves the rest.
So as I conclude my “Riding and Writing Sabbatical,” I feel more ready for the next climb, and the next descent.
The vehicle is better tuned, the route is clearer, and the hills are calling.
And I have no intention of pretending my bicycle is a horse.
-By Matt Willden
Matt is a fractional CHRO and HR transformation leader specializing in helping growth-stage companies build the people systems, leadership capacity, and operational rigor to scale — with experience at Amazon, Chewy, Overstock, and beyond.
