The Final Post

Literally, two minutes ago, our son proclaimed, with a touch of angst in his voice and tears in his eyes: “Nothing is fair in life. Nothing!”

Smart kid.

When I first told her of the invitation I received to write this blog, my boss described the opportunity as “cathartic.” My inaugural post, way back in October 2007, was a vitriolic movie quote, and it perfectly captures my state of mind at that time. I was mad as hell, and it just wasn’t fair. And that was a year before the recession.

This space has stood each week since as a trusty sounding board (excluding a handful of times I couldn’t surface from work long enough to use it) to vent all manner of professional agitations, frustrations, and revelations—at times, to the point of revolt among a few readers.

And I’ve gained something along the way, something I didn’t expect when Jay Novak called me and made the offer: self-awareness, of the kind of life I’m living in the cube and beyond. I’ve taken stock of my professional and personal life in ways that I never would have done before. And through the words and advice of readers, I’ve gained wisdom, knowledge, and a few chances to practice brushing things off my shoulder.

Despite appearances, I’m really the last person who would keep a journal or diary. But I recognize that I’m smarter and steadier today, and I’m grateful to have had this chance to write—and I’m grateful that you’ve read it. In fact, “write it down” is now a piece of advice I regularly dispense to those who work for me, and have just about had it with the injustice of it all.

I haven’t taken full stock of every moral of the story, or reread every single post I’ve written since October 2007. But I have a solid list of lessons that I will carry with me, the rest of my days:

• Business does a lot of good things in this world.
• And it can do even more if it really wants.
• But business does a lot of bad things, too.
• But the worst is that business regularly pays for mediocrity.
• Sometimes, we settle for outright incompetence.
• We don’t change fast enough, no matter the positive potential.
• We wait for fear to move us, and then we swing.
• Once in awhile, some empire builder convinces us to jump on the next big business fad bandwagon.
• And then we mock the fundamentals we should be following in the first place.
• But empire builders never last (even though a new empire pops up every few months).
• Because empire builders are really lost, confused potential entrepreneurs who could really jumpstart this economy, if they’d just have the guts.
• And sometimes employees don’t know how, or don’t care, to hold leaders accountable for mediocrity.
• So we sit in our cubes, and gnash our teeth.
• But nothing really changes.
• Because nothing is fair in business.
• And we can’t always get what we want.
• Or can we?
• Perhaps we can’t get what we want sitting where we are.
• Because business is always personal.
• And it can be better.
• We just have to believe in ourselves.
• We have to find the courage to step outside our comfort zone, and take some risks.
• And not settle for the mediocrity, too.

And so I thank you for your gracious attention a few minutes each week. I walk away from this experience with my opinions more fully informed, my head held high, and my own rules upheld to the very end. And don’t count on me staying in this cube forever—I’m not going to settle anytime soon.

See you at the top someday. (And no, you won’t necessarily know that it’s me.)

—Whatsername

October 19, 2007

Post I

"Who the hell do they think they are? I report to the Prime Minister and even he's smart enough not to ask me what we do. Have you ever seen such a bunch of self-righteous, ass-covering prigs? They don't care what we do; they care what we get photographed doing. And how the hell could Bond be so stupid? I give him double-O status and he celebrates by shooting up an embassy. Is the man deranged? And where the hell is he? In the old days if an agent did something that embarrassing he'd have the good sense to defect. Christ, I miss the Cold War."—M, Casino Royale, 2006

Enjoy Your Trip!

The mood of business is so easy to pulse check at an airport on a Monday morning.

 

Evidently, it’s been a while since I traveled for business. The sophisticated Euro-English female voice over the MSP system, for instance, no longer reminds me to “take a location reminder slip,” or “stand clear of the doors.” She’s sadly been replaced by some guy who sounds like the bartender at Applebee’s.

 

After a six-month respite, I expected to feel harried and annoyed by my return to the airport. Quite the opposite. The TSA line was quick and perfunctory; the flight without incident; the in-flight wireless access a welcome tool. I even scored the double-deep exit row seat, so my legs were stretched to the hilt.

 

Not everyone around me enjoyed the trip as much as I did. The entire exit row section was full of scowls, shuffling papers, clicking keyboards, and a lot of huffs. At one point, I returned to my seat to find my empty coffee cup tossed inside my bag. Apparently my neighbor didn’t like it sitting on the floor, minding its own business.

 

But I enjoyed my own little bubble of bliss during the entire trip. No rush, no stress, no problem. I think I’ve finally reached that legendary third phase of business traveler. Phase one: exciting jolt to self-worth. Phase two: a stressful necessary evil. Phase three: It is what I choose to make of it.

“Why bust my ass? Take the 8:00 flight with me.”—Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987)

Impatience

I’ve been clenching my jaw for a month.

On the surface, I could blame the overwhelming pace of work over the past quarter. It’s been breakneck, with little sleep, and even fewer options to spread the work around. I’m even dreaming about work, which only leaves me exhausted when I wake up.

But that wouldn’t be an honest response. The work isn’t the problem; I love working at this pace. This is what I do, and what I do well. I can even handle the management issues and vendor headaches.

The fact that my jaw is killing me is entirely my own fault, and I know it. Meeting with my boss last month, I blurted out that I wanted to have a long-awaited career conversation with her. She agreed, and said she’d be ready to talk with me about it—in two months.

And I knew that already. We had time coming up, in two months, for this very discussion. So while I knew better than to press on it, my patience ran out.

And now, for the past month, it’s been a constant point of agitation, of stress, of worry, of reading too much into what every little detail and team announcement means (or doesn’t) for me. I’m killing myself with worry over what should be a reasonable conversation about the good work I have striven to deliver over the past several years. Instead, I’m sweating the details.

I need to find the kill switch on this angst—it’s highly distracting, and I have too much work to do.

Dress Envy

One of the basic realities of working in corporate America: We fixedly stare at the supposed greener pastures of our competition and shout from the fence line, “Why can’t we have that?”

More recently, the explosion of transparency and real-time information gives greater clarity of the doings of our top competitors, something I welcome immensely. Equally, though, it amplifies our idiotic tendencies to constantly compare ourselves with others. It’s not unlike the power of online information to erode personal self-confidence: I’m not even close to a size two, but I sure spend a lot of time believing that the models for Nordstrom’s online store are the norm I should strive to become. Sick.

And that’s the point: We tend to forget that having clearer information about our competition is ultimately easier to distort. Information is so exciting on the surface—look at what they do!—that we set aside common sense; that is, the very real differences we know exist between our business and theirs. We instead fire off missives to colleagues (as if they don’t follow the competition themselves) and suggest that if you could just do what competitor x does, we’d win, too!

We don’t work for these companies. We don’t necessarily understand the leadership model, or the very real cultural aspects that affect their operations. Maybe they have a command-and-control management style that just wouldn’t fly here. Perhaps they run their businesses in fear. It’s possible they spend a lot more for the results they see.

Or maybe we do understand these realities, and we either choose to overlook them—or we’re blinded by the glow they cast into the market. Because shiny objects are sure fun to watch, and they make us want to be shiny, too.

I’m on a mission right now to constantly encourage our teams and employees to think candidly about the things that are different about ourselves and our competition, before racing off to try and replicate what they do. What’s in our way? What would we gain or lose from doing it the same way? Are we even trying to reach the same customer?

Because the same dress isn’t flattering on every single woman.

“Yes, you’re right. I do need a bit of inspiration. I mean, I could go out and buy a lot of new clothes two sizes too small. But ooh, I’ve done that before.”—Absolutely Fabulous (2002)

Search Before You Speak

Ah, youth. You’d think with all of the online research tools at their fingertips, they’d figure out how to best step into a live business discussion—one that’s been happening for months.

A new hire recently set off a tirade of e-mail messages in response to one rather big issue facing our business. His enthusiasm was palpable while reading his message—no doubt carefully crafted and agonized over before he hit “send.” His thinking was positive and supportive, the questions were smart but thin, the recipient list reached far and wide. It was a beautiful testament to a young one attempting to prove himself as a strategic thinker, and make a meaningful contribution.

One problem: He didn’t do a Google search before he set off on his quest for greatness.

I don’t discount his ambition, but he did himself a disservice by not checking first what the company is already doing. I felt bad for him, because he likely heard crickets over the next several days. I quietly sent him a link that showcased the activity well underway over the past 18 months. I hope others reached out to him, too, and praised his smart thinking.

So, here’s the lesson, folks: Know thy business. Take the time to Google great ideas before sending them up the ladder—who knows? You might find something we haven’t started doing yet. For certain, it’ll save yourself a face plant, however unfair.

“The world has the habit of making room for the man whose actions show that he knows where he is going.”—Napoleon Hill