All Good Things

Hubris

It probably seems like a rash decision. It looks that way, sure. I can only say that it takes just a few drops more to exceed the capacity of a dam.

I'd had enough.

Dylan Stern had always been an anti-bonus, compensated for by an embarrassingly large salary. But this time, I was beyond compensatory thinking. It struck me all at once with force, like a tsunami of realization, that there was no upside large enough to warrant giving another minute of my life to a company that behaved this way. That valued sales over their own people. That only did the right thing when forced into a corner. And then, would throw their people to the wolves like that.

Swelling beneath the unfamiliar anger was an undeniable feeling of fatigue. Why should I care? What purpose was I serving if my role was to redirect justified outrage? The company deserved to face the heat.

The idea that I could simply walk away came to me over dinner. By bedtime, it had crystallized into a shiny gem that I couldn't stop polishing.

I had never liked this job. It was sapping my energy, distracting me from everything important. It was morally questionable at best.

I could resign.

I mentioned the possibility to Vic, who seemed theoretically supportive.

"Sure, you'd find something else," he murmured from his side of the bed, Sunday night. "You're kind of a big deal."

I couldn't see if he was smirking, but I imagined he actually meant it. I lay in the dark, looking up at the fan, wondering if his opinion could be trusted. Vic installs air vents for a living. It's a lucrative living, he owns his own business, but it is solidly not in the same world that I navigate on a day-to-day basis. He's probably 'kind of a big deal' in air conditioning, but I'm not sure I would feel confident enough to issue such an overarching statement of support if he suggested packing it in without a backup plan.

Still, I've been headhunted every few months in the last 15 years. I've been interviewed by the media about the handling of crisis situations. I'm good at what I do. Finding something else would be a breeze.

The word hubris floated dust-mote-like through my semi-consciousness before I fell asleep, but I was already composing my resignation letter in my mind.

***

I arrive in the office early Monday morning. It's barely 7:30, and the lights are still off. I leave them off and make a determined march toward my desk. Like most companies, NorthLodge has blindly embraced the open concept despite its numerous shortcomings - total lack of privacy in which to have sensitive discussions with team members, ear-shattering volumes of chatter around coffee time, and the unexpected rise of a new status symbol: wall space.

As a VP, I have one of those coveted walls near my desk. I use it to create vast, important-looking post-it maps. This is an unwritten requirement of the modern workplace. The more post-its you have up, the more you are DOING. Each week, I spend at least 2 hours scribbling things on post-its and shuffling old post-its around so people can see how busy I am.

Leaning against my wall (and my post-it rows) is a beleaguered-looking Sandra.

"Oh, hello, " I say carefully. "Early for you?" Like me, Sandra has kids. She does the morning school drop-off, so we have a standing agreement that she can be late. In return, I hope that she doesn't judge me when I leave a few minutes early. It's the working mother's accord.

She looks me in the eye, takes a breath and says, "I've decided to quit. Did you see his... I can't work for that guy."

I let my breath out in an even fffff while I consider my response. The right thing, the managerial thing, here would be to calm her down. Support her concerns, pledge to work through them, negotiate a reason for her to reconsider.