Leadership requires intentionality and flexibility in similar measures. But more importantly it requires an honest and humble assessment of which is which. Wonderful.
It’s autumn.
Shorter days. Cooler nights. The brewing sense that we’re ¾ of the way through another one…that whatever this year was going to bring, it’s probably already brought it.
The garden turns over. The Halloween decorations go up. My birthday rolls around. The sense that time is passing is visceral. The melancholy is exquisite.
There’s a misconception that we don’t really get seasons in Northern California, that we don’t really have “autumn.” Nonsense. Sure, we don’t get the fiery displays of leaves, or the wild changes in temperature. It’s not dramatic.
But breathe — it’s in the air.
For many of us, autumn brings with it a strong sense memory of “back-to-school” for ourselves and even for our children. So much possibility to come, so much nostalgia for what’s been. Put on that sweater and start thinking.
So, the pumpkin-spice-lattepocalypse of it all notwithstanding, the coming of autumn is an emotional cascade. But what does it have to do with Ars Pandemonium?
A couple of major career events happened for me right around this time of year. I started at Electronic Arts in September of 2006, and ten years later, started at Facebook in October of 2016. Each of those was a big change for me, and each had its own kind of back-to-school feeling.1
All of which is to say, when indications of autumn make themselves known, I get those feelings — and for me they’re as much professional as they are personal or cultural or environmental. And so in the last decade or so I’ve tried to put those feelings to work.
Here's what I’m really after: how much of what I have accomplished in the recent months — over, say, the year so far — has truly been intentional versus how much has been lucky or opportunistic.
I cannot emphasize enough how important I think introspection — honest self-assessment — is as a manager. I also cannot emphasize enough how much I hate engaging in it.
I think many folks would describe me as an introspective fellow; hell, I write an entire newsletter that’s barely more than navel gazing! But it does not come naturally, folks. I have to work at it. I think it’s worth the effort.
And so, the transitional season seems as good a time as any for a deep dive, in a professional sense. May as well put the melancholy to use. Here's what I’m really after: how much of what I have accomplished in the recent months — over, say, the year so far — has truly been intentional versus how much has been lucky or opportunistic.
And most important, how much of the current story that I tell myself about that distinction is actually accurate. Be honest, Boyd.
We all narrate our own experience. Do we default to telling ourselves the truth? Dear readers, I think we do not.
So my personal reflection mostly involves looking for those scenarios where I had come out somehow looking like a genius when in fact all I had done was take a rather obvious set of choices and run them through.2
Now, look, it's okay to take credit for making the right choices! These sorts of things don't happen by accident. Being opportunistic is good. Seizing the moment is critical. And having created a situation where it’s even possible to jump on an opportunity and ride it to success is an achievement in itself. It’s worthy of recognition!
This isn’t an exercise in self-flagellation or a scaffolding to erect some false-modesty. No. But it most certainly is about being humble and practicing gratitude.
Opportunism is good. But better than being opportunistic is being opportunistic…and being honest about it. Happening upon a successful situation — or even just a high-potential situation — and then convincing yourself that you somehow engineered it is dangerous.
I believe — I have seen and experienced — that it’s just a slow poison to ascribe to expertise that which was circumstance. It’s a seductive trap. But…we all kind of do it.
Especially when managing other people, and especially especially when managing a large group of people, it’s critical for credibility to communicate a sense of intentionality as well as actually have intention. But even worse than not having intention is claiming intentionality where there was none.
In Manager Judo I wrote about the importance of listening — and also of demonstrating listening. The point was that people like being listened to, but just as much, they like feeling heard. Faking this will, I wrote, “destroy trust and light your own credibility on fire.”
The same principle is at work here. While I always believe in being a cheerleader for my team, I believe even more deeply in delivering a clear-eyed assessment of performance. Celebrating a lucky break or an opportunistic accomplishment is great! It just should be called out as such, that’s all.
None of us gets this right all the time (well, anyway, I don’t). We’ll pass up a high-potential project because “all our resources are already allocated,” say. Or conversely, we’ll starve a solid workstream chasing some pie in the sky newness.3
But I don’t think the goal is perfection, anyway. The goal is to have a plan — as well as the ability to understand the limitations of the plan when opportunity strikes. And then! To be honest about how those interact.
Ultimately, it is important that the image being presented to the team is authentic, and in my experience (both as “leader” and “led”) that image should be one of flexible intentionality. That means opportunistic when it's right, intentional when it's important, and honest about the balance between those things. And as time passes, to be sure this distinction remains clear.
The only way we can be honest with the team about this is to be honest with ourselves first.
A crackling fire, a mulled cider, and a nice big plate of humble pie.
It’s autumn.
Don’t forget to check out the exclusive Ars Pandemonium merch! The store looks a little makeshift at the moment, but it works! Grab a shirt! Stickers coming soon…
Not to put too fine a point on it, but I jumped from a small company to one that felt huge in the move to EA, and then to one that felt gargantuan in Facebook. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the jump from elementary to high school, or from high school to college, both in the environments as well as my own growth and development. The melancholy of having to leave one thing behind in order to achieve another was pretty profound, as these things go.
This isn’t necessarily one-way to the negative. It’s just that I know the sneaky way my unconscious tries to give me credit I don’t deserve. Somehow, it just doesn’t go the other way all that often. But I try to be honest about those scenarios too!
Absolutely beside the point here, but “pie in the sky” is yet another phrase with a truly fascinating etymology. It means what you think, more or less, but in a really dark way. You know I love it.