What Do You Do Again?

Why that question bothers you (and what to do about it)

YOU KNOW THE MOMENT. Festive dinner, family gathering, someone’s aunt making polite conversation.

Just remind me… what is it actually you do again?

And suddenly you’re fumbling through an explanation that sounds either too vague or too complicated or somehow both at once.

“I run drama workshops.” (Underwhelming)

“I facilitate participatory theatre with young people.” (Jargon.)

“I use theatre to build democratic capacity in communities.” (Now they think you’re running for office.)

If you're looking for a killer answer to that question you're in the wrong place. I gave up trying years ago. Most relatives just want to know you’re employed and not joining a cult.

But here’s what’s interesting: the question peeves us. It gets under our skin in a way that feels disproportionate to the aunt’s mild curiosity. We don’t usually stop to ask why.

Here’s a possible reason.

You’re a third of the way through the season/artistic/teaching year. September to July. Three terms. We’re at the end of the first term.

And if you’re honest, you’ve stopped thinking about the horizon. You’re focused on meeting Thursday’s funding deadline. Getting through next week’s difficult group. Finishing the reports before the holidays.

You’re delivering sessions, running workshops, teaching classes. But somewhere in the grind of transactions, you’ve lost sight of why you’re doing any of this. You can recite the official reasons for line managers and funders. The real reasons – the ones that got you into this work in the first place – are missing in action.

That’s why you stumble. The difficulty isn’t explaining theatre facilitation to ‘civilians’. The difficulty is that you don’t remember yourself.

The “So That...” Test

If you’re reading this newsletter, you run workshops, teach classes, or direct rehearsals. None of which captures what matters until you ask yourself:

So that...?

Take a typical statement about your work:

“I use improvisation games to build confidence.”

Now ask: So that...?

“So participants feel better about themselves.”

So that...?

“So participants can take ownership of their lives.”

Suddenly we’ve moved from activity (improvisation games), through immediate effect (confidence), to something that sounds like it matters: helping people take ownership of their lives.

That last bit is starting to articulate a purpose your work serves. Not “I run improv workshops” but “my work serves the purpose of helping people rehearse courage so they can take ownership of their lives.”

This is what you’ve lost sight of in the transactional fog. The activities are right there in your plans. What’s missing is clarity about what those activities are in service to.

Mid-Year Recalibration

December might feel like an odd moment for existential questioning. Surely this is resolution territory?

But for most people in our field, the calendar year and the working year are completely out of sync. Whilst everyone else is winding down for a fresh start in January, you’re already a third of the way through your actual working year.

This isn’t the time for resolutions about who you’ll become. It’s time for mid-year recalibration about what you’re actually serving.

A chance to ask: what purpose does my work serve? Am I actually serving it? And how might I use the remaining two-thirds of this year to serve it more fully?

This is where the concept of Professional Purpose becomes useful – not as something to achieve, but as a point of orientation. A way of lifting your head above the transactions and finding the horizon again.

From Finite Target to Evergreen Purpose

The word “purpose” itself offers a clue about how we might usefully think about it. It derives from the Old French purposer – literally, “to put forth” or “to propose.” To propose, rather than to achieve, complete, or arrive at.

This shifts Professional Purpose from a static destination into an ongoing offer. Instead of “This is what I am here to achieve”, it becomes “This is the offer my work makes to the world” or even “This is the world my work is proposing to make.”

Purposes, understood this way, are evergreen. They cannot realistically be completed. They provide a direction of orientation rather than a measurement of achievement. Purpose is a bearing, not an arrival.

This matters because it protects us from what’s often called the Arrival Fallacy – the persistent belief that we’ll finally feel satisfied, fulfilled, or successful once we reach that particular goal. Get the funding. Run the perfect workshop. Build the reputation. Then we’ll have made it.

Except we never quite do. The arrival keeps receding.

But if the purpose your work serves is a direction rather than a destination, you can be serving it right now. You can be purpose-ful – letting the purpose inform this moment’s practice – rather than purpose-led, waiting for ideal conditions. You don’t need the perfect group or the big grant. You can be contributing to the purpose in today’s difficult workshop with the undersized budget and the participant who won’t stop disrupting.

The purpose remains constant even when circumstances don’t cooperate. It’s visible above funding cycles, difficult stakeholders, and hitting session numbers. Finite goals still matter – but they become waypoints in service of the purpose rather than substitutes for it.

The Work of Articulation

If purpose matters this much, it’s worth taking time to articulate it carefully. This is real work, not something to dash off between tasks. The words you choose matter because they determine whether this can actually orient your practice.

It’s tempting to reach for something grand and vague: “To change the world through theatre.” But what does that actually mean? Which world? How? And is that what your work is really serving, or what you wish it were serving?

Better to be specific about what your work is proposing. Some practitioners prefer academic phrasing; others are more comfortable with direct, conversational language. There’s no single correct style. What matters is whether it genuinely names the purpose your work serves.

Here are some examples showing the range:

More mainstream performing arts framing:

• “To create rehearsal processes where performers can take creative risks without being punished for uncertainty.”

More academic phrasing:

• “To challenge deficit narratives about young people by treating their lived experience as legitimate knowledge.”

• “To develop democratic capacity through sustained practice in collective decision-making.”

Direct with belief statement:

• “To establish uncertainty as legitimate pedagogy, based on the belief that perfectionism is killing creativity in education.”

The test isn’t whether it sounds impressive. The test is whether it helps you recognise what your work is actually serving – and whether that clarity helps you make better decisions.

Write It Down

This isn’t optional. If the purpose your work serves isn’t written down and referred back to, it remains a vague aspiration rather than a working tool.

That doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. The purpose you articulate is provisional, subject to revision as your thinking and practice develop. But it needs to exist in writing so you can test it, refer to it, refine it.

Write it down. Say it out loud. Does it sound like you? Does it actually name what your work is serving? Does it help you make decisions?

This isn’t about crafting a personal brand statement or a clever elevator pitch. It’s about identifying what your practice is in service to, so you have something to orient toward when you’re lost in the transactions.

Purpose as North Star

Once articulated, the purpose your work serves becomes remarkably useful for practical decision-making. Not every opportunity will serve it equally well. Some will be tangential. Some will pull you away from it.

This doesn’t mean you turn everything down that doesn’t align perfectly. We all take on work to pay the bills. The question isn’t “does this perfectly express my purpose?” but “how does this relate to it, and am I choosing consciously?”

A clear sense of purpose helps you:

• Recognise opportunities that genuinely advance the purpose

• Make conscious trade-offs when you need bill-paying work

• Identify partnerships that share the purpose, even if practices differ

• Plan strategically for the remaining two-thirds of this academic year

It’s a north star for decision-making. Not rigid – you can and should revisit it – but stable enough to orient you when choices feel overwhelming.

So what about the aunt’s question?

I can’t give you a satisfying answer for her. And you don’t need one. Her question is social lubrication, mild curiosity. It doesn’t require a manifesto.

But perhaps you’re less bothered by it now. Because you know what your work serves. The activities change term by term, project by project. The purpose those activities are in service to remains constant.

That’s the difference between stumbling through “I run workshops, sort of, with young people, using theatre, to build… things…” and simply saying “I run workshops” and meaning it – because you know exactly what that is in service of.

The purpose isn’t for the aunt. It’s for you. For those moments mid-year when you’re drowning in transactions and can’t remember why you’re doing this. For planning sessions when you’re choosing between competing priorities. For conversations with potential partners when you need to articulate what you’re actually after.

And if you’re a third of the way through this academic year already, what better time to ask: what does my work serve? Am I actually serving it? And how might I serve it more fully in the remaining two terms?

Lift your head. Find the north star. Get your bearing.

Then get back to the transactions – this time with the horizon in sight.

Next in this series: I’ll explore how the purpose your work serves relates to practice, process, and the other elements that make up sustainable professional work.

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I write the newsletter from various coffee shops, imagining I’m chatting with my subscribers over a cappuccino. So if you ever find an issue particularly helpful or thought-provoking, you can now literally buy me the coffee that will fuel the next one. This approach keeps the newsletter free and accessible for everyone while still allowing you to support the work when it resonates with you.

To cite this article:
Burns, B (2025) What Do You Do Again? The Philosophical Theatre Facilitator: www.philosophicaltheatrefacilitator.substack.com

© Brendon Burns 2025