The Origin of the Orchestrator
Everyone knew there was a problem. It wasn’t going to work. We weren’t going to make it. Everything was wrong and broken and late and incompatible. Everyone hated each other. Meetings were terrifying argument-fests where nothing really got decided. The program was hemorrhaging money. Darkness was enveloping the entire Earth. All over the universe, angels were losing their wings.
But we knew that there was another way. We knew that if were able to combine all of the skills we needed onto a small team rather than spread them out across separate groups, things could move faster. We believed that the people closest to the work had the deepest understanding of both what’s feasible and what’s possible. They should have a larger voice. We were pretty sure that many if not all of our assumptions about the project were wrong, so we’d need to learn fast and change course rapidly.
We knew all of this, but not everyone knew all of this. In fact most did not know any of this, and they didn’t want to hear about it.
This is the conundrum that Alan Wizemann, my boss at the time, and I were grappling with about five years ago as we sat in a small bar in downtown Minneapolis, lubricating our anxiety with bourbon and locally-brewed IPAs. After we’d consumed enough alcohol to achieve enlightenment, our two key challenges became clear. We had to help these people join the rest of the 21st century and abandon their ineffective old-school operating model. After that, we’d have to keep them from falling back into their familiar and dysfunctional ways. Like how an AA sponsor keeps an alcoholic on track, we’d need to be their “Agile Anonymous” sponsor. Teaching a man how to fish is great, but once you get him fishing you need to duct tape that damn fishing rod to his hand and keep him fishing just to make sure he doesn’t eventually give up and go to McDonald’s.
Alan came from the start-up world and had already achieved success creating software and leading product teams. He got his thrills racing cars and biking down mountains. Now, as a consultant for a large retail corporation, he was facing antiquated ways of thinking and working, which were the opposite of his fast-paced life. This company was moving at the pace of an ocean liner being pulled through the mud by a team of narcoleptic snails.
I too was a blend of many things that didn’t fit naturally into the corporate environment: a failed artist, a broken skateboarding enthusiast, and a rock n’ roll hobbyist. After a bizarre series of events and questionable life choices, I found myself in a corporate job where my weird brand of creativity and recklessness kept me continuously bouncing into the newest and most ambiguous spaces. My reputation had landed me on that company’s first mobile team years prior, where I’d learned about agile and product management.
Like a young and naïve Luke Skywalker, I was quickly seduced by Agile’s seemingly magical and deceptively simple ways. I sought to master it for the good of the galaxy.
It didn’t take too many drinks for us to realize that we knew what needed to happen. A product model following agile practices was the only path to salvation. With his experience and savvy, Alan was well-positioned to sell it to the muckie-mucks in charge. My time applying and managing agile practices on mobile teams made me the right person to take on the challenge of setting up and orchestrating the new way we’d be working.
Now the only question was what to call it? I couldn’t use the title Scrum Master, even though it sounds like a sweet Star Wars character from Luke’s home planet of Tatooine. That name was too directly tied to the practice of Scrum, and we weren’t selling a process, damn it! We were trying to change a way of life! The term Agile Coach was closer but still not quite right. Clearly agile coaching would be a critical component of this new discipline, but this role would require more than just teaching. In order to truly be the “duct tape,” I’d need to be the sticky goo that held everyone together, which meant actually working as part of the team.
“You’d effectively be the Orchestrator,” Alan said nonchalantly holding a now empty glass. At that exact moment the sky opened up and a bright beam of light illuminated us as a chrous of angelic voices sang in unison. At least that’s how I remember it. In reality we probably just nodded and got the check. Nevertheless, as unceremonious as that moment may have actually been, it was a turning point for me and my career. The Orchestrator was officially born.
Now a few years have passed, and I’ve managed to assemble a small band of fellow Orchestrators. Together we’ve spread our approach of pragmatic agility across our company’s entire digital organization.
Looking back at it all, I can’t help but to ask myself: are we truly the noble “Agile Anonymous” sponsors we had aspired to be? Have we shared our experiences with empathy? Guided our friends back to the path of enlightenment, health, and prosperity? Or are we the duct tape wrapped tightly around the fisherman’s hand? I’d like to think that perhaps we are a little bit of both.
My team’s approach continues to evolve. Corporate life keeps us on our toes and transforming culture. “Orchestrator’s Delight” tells our story. We’ll share what we’ve learned along the way. Because, in the end, is it really that bad to be duct tape?
