Without a doubt, when the work we do flourishes, success and recognition come uninvited. Most of us, at some point in our careers, find ourselves in a role where we are truly playing to our strengths most of the time. Sometimes we plan our way there. Sometimes we stumble into it. Sometimes a good manager simply lets us do what we’re good at. However it happens, we feel it immediately. We look forward to work. The challenges engage us instead of draining us. We feel capable, stretched, and useful all at once. And when the day ends, we leave with a sense that our work reflects who we are.
That doesn’t mean the work is perfect. There are still boring tasks, frustrating moments, and the occasional bad day. But those moments don’t take over. What stands out is the feeling that our strengths are being used well.
Work becomes a place where we can show up fully and do our best work.
People have been trying to name this feeling for a long time. At its core, it’s about contributing at your best in areas where you are naturally strong. It’s what happens when most of your time is spent doing work that fits you. When that alignment is there, work stops feeling like something to get through and starts feeling like something that builds you.
The problem is that this state rarely lasts without effort. Something eventually changes. Sometimes it’s clearly negative—a new boss, a restructure, or a role that no longer fits. Other times it looks like success: a promotion, more responsibility, or a seat at a bigger table.
And sometimes it happens so slowly you don’t notice at all, as small additions to your role quietly change how you spend your days.
Think of a creative strategist whose strengths are in ideas, insight, and solving unclear problems. She’s promoted because she’s good at what she does. But over time, her calendar fills with meetings, approvals, tracking, and admin. None of it is terrible. It’s just different.
The work that once allowed her to play to her strengths gets pushed aside. She’s still performing, but she’s no longer energized. The role didn’t go wrong—it just pulled her away from what made her effective in the first place.
This kind of drift is common. We don’t usually choose to move away from our strengths. It happens quietly. We stay busy. We meet expectations. But slowly, the work that matters most to us gets crowded out.
If we want to keep playing to our strengths over time, we have to be intentional. Drift isn’t harmless. Every commitment we accept shapes how we spend our energy. Titles and promotions can be meaningful, but they can also replace the work we do best with work that simply needs to be managed.
Flourishing requires choice. Sometimes it means saying no. Sometimes it means reshaping a role instead of outgrowing it. And sometimes it means walking away from work that no longer lets us do our best. Playing to our strengths isn’t something we achieve once and move on from. It’s something we have to notice, protect, and choose—again and again.
