A few instances in recent years have made me ponder about how we’re perceived and how the way we’re viewed by others varies with time.

An early sighter of this was shortly after I’d qualified as a mediator. I was asked  whether I’d be on standby for a delicate job in a different organisation and the requester had singled me out as someone they thought would suit because they said the mediator used would need to have gravitas.

This was quite an ego boost for me at the time. I have been called many things in my life, ‘bugs bunny’ at school (because of my overbite, but I liked to think it was because of my dry wit), ‘talkative’ (forever), ‘bookish’ (it’s a rare time that I’ve not got several books on the go) and ‘animated’ (I guess that I’ve also been fidgety, but I suppose that this might also be referring back to my Merrie Melodies vibes). But I don’t think I’d ever been told I had gravitas before. When I mentioned it to my boss, she almost spat her tea out laughing. “Gravitas?” then backtracked a little, but only a little, looking at my wounded expression.

Then, a year or so ago, when I was doing a 360 degree feedback exercise, a younger colleague gently reminded me to go easy when responding to ideas from the newer members of the team and allow them space to get their opinions across in meetings (as, they perceived, my yay or nay carried weight in those forums). That brought me up short. I think I still thought of myself as one of the plucky young group heads, though a spate of recent retirements and job shifts has left me one of only a handful of longstanding managers left. Well over 10 years in the role, how I viewed myself wasn’t aligned with how others were viewing me.

Then, a few weeks ago, a trusted colleague and I were having something of a philosophical discussion about a strand of work that we’ve been responsible for for a number of years now, and she looked pensive about a point I’d made and said that she thought I was ‘wise’. I wasn’t shooting for an owlish look, just trying to get across some points I’d been thinking about.

There’s a risk of all this sounding a bit big headed, and in some blog in the future I will ponder the punchier bits of feedback and monikers I’ve been given over the years, but these little snippets were not the kind of stuff I was hearing from colleagues two decades ago, and I don’t instinctively feel that I’m any more salient in my approach or opinions now than then.

In my 26 years at the IPO I’ve lost my hair, grown a beard, and, of late those beard hairs have started to go white and wiry. I like to hint that it’s all the fault of my son and partner, but in reality it’s just the passing of time.

I picked up a nifty book on body language by the famous natural historian Desmond Morris – aided by cartoon illustrations of all the gestures described (including an impressive number that can be read as insults… I think I’d be better off keeping my arms pinned to my sides for fear of causing offense, though that might be misread as awkwardness or boredom).

I’ve attended many manager training courses over my lifetime too. I’ve awkwardly stood with colleagues, making power poses before giving a presentation. Had actors/workplace trainers show me how to use my diaphragm to give my voice certainty and power, and read books on body language and how to get your points across. I’m not really sure that any of that stuff really stuck, though I’m sure that there’s been odd snippets that have lodged themselves here and there.

How about the grey hairs then? Have I become like one of those silverback gorillas I mention in the title. Possibly, in some ways, and I do wonder if some of the outside signifiers really do make all the difference in these sort of scenarios. I have, on occasion, been called “sir” in the supermarket, when I’ve been wearing a jacket (probably a lightly ruffled linen number, channelling my love of 1950s novels). Then again, I’ve also been asked, forcefully, if I can tell someone where they can find the jarred peppers, on the occasions where I’ve been wearing a plain coloured t-shirt in the same colour as one of the shop uniforms. On those occasions I’ve been genuinely pleased on the odd occasion that I’ve known and been able to help (even if this has led to the customer eying me suspiciously, thinking, I suspect, that I am actually an employee who is just pretending to be a fellow customer).

But, on reflection, I think much of it does come down to confidence. Confidence begets certainty and certainty (when correct and considered and right) begets trust.

Is this all just an elaborate way of saying that you’re more likely to be called adjectives like ‘wise’ and told you have ‘gravitas’ when you have the benefit of experience behind you?

This feels to me to be the biggest shift in how I’ve been seen, personally. That weight of experience does allow me to talk authoritatively when I’m being asked about something I’ve experienced before. But there is an important qualifier, I think that experience is only really a selling point and a boon when it’s been contemplated on and considered and reflected on.

In supervision, training and the implementation of the managerial, coaching and mediator roles that I carry out, I’ve been required to, and worked up the habit of, assessing what has worked and what hasn’t. I’ve needed to be honest about my limitations and failings. With the confidence that experience brings, and the knowledge of the things I’m stronger at, and the things that come less naturally to me, it’s easier to admit when I don’t know the answer.

And perhaps being able to say confidently “I don’t know.” as easily as you proffer an opinion or an answer is the crucial foundation behind being perceived as being wise? There’s nothing that undermines someone’s confidence in your abilities faster than if you’re caught out bluffing or winging it.