For the young who want to
I’m taking a break from writing how-to’s, to talk about a social-corporate-relationship matter I’ve been thinking about.
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting…
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
- Marge Piercy, For the young who want to
Over the past year, I’ve had the opportunity to work closely with three brilliantly driven young women — Lou, Vicky and Tin (I want to put links to their LinkedIn accounts, but I’ll ask them for permission first).
This isn’t fluff. I believe in metrics-driven HR performance assessment, and they fulfill a particular metric for me, one that makes me very impressed — the ability to independently lead projects that are expected of senior members of an office.
They’re articulate, and have detailed knowledge of their field. What surprises me even more is how well they manage tricky clients. At 22–26 years old! I can’t imagine doing all that before I was 25. I’m excited for where they’ll all be in their lives in 5 years because I’m sure they’ll do amazing.
But, I keep having trouble connecting with them.
Am I threatened? Maybe.
But not really. I’ve been pitted against coworkers before, and I’ve had my share of Clients who refused to work with me, and I’d say that a situation where a Client is refusing to collaborate is much more threatening than a teammate’s skill level.
If anything, they make me afraid.
Since they’re female, it’s easier to see myself in them, and compare who I am to who they are (than to guys I’ve worked with).
I get scared, because I feel like if I work with them too closely, my jadedness about work might rub off on them.
I think part of what makes them so successful is the purity of their intent and passion. There’s a single-mindedness with which they face their jobs. A drive to excel in fields they believe in.
I don’t want to pollute the purity of that.
I used to be in that zone. Raring to work ‘till morning, loving-my-job-so-much-told-myself-I-would-retire-there sort of attitude. Until leaving the research industry exposed me to how illogical business decisions could be.
Growing up in a research job is all about integrity — verification and validity are built into the tasks (Is your base sufficiently big enough to draw a conclusion? Was the sampling correct, because if it isn’t, your interpretation isn’t sound? Are you just suffering from Interpreter Bias?). There’s a clear sense of right and wrong. Which is perfect when you’re 24.
Then, you move into management, marketing and product development and you see the many, sometimes difficultly unnecessary factors at play.
You learn that just because you’re right, doesn’t mean you get followed. That just because you’re good, doesn’t mean you get paid. That just because you worked hard, doesn’t mean you’ll benefit from it. And, closest to my heart, just because you mean well — if you can’t express yourself well enough for people to accept — doesn’t mean people will listen.
You learn that beyond revenue, and customer engagement, there are so many factors in corporate decisions — pet projects, egos, prejudice, rumors, just the sheer resistance to change, sometimes even laziness or comfort. Things that you’d think shouldn’t have a place in business, but, in reality, do.
Because you’re dealing with people.
And the truth is, I do have all this baggage. That baggage helped me learn to manage a team; that baggage was why I got the chance to lead a division for a small part of my life. It’s part of why I know what I know. But, if I could save people from that — from going through really sad and annoying work practices, I would.
This is why I’m afraid of optimistic, driven young women.
Because I’m afraid that I might destroy how they see the world. I know that they’re “free individuals” and can decide who they’ll listen to and why. But cynicism is catching. It’s seductively infectious because it’s so easy to find something to complain about in offices.
I’m also not one to hide what I think of the world. If you ask me what I think, I will try to sugarcoat it if I think you’re sensitive, but I’ll still tell you my honest opinion.
So this is my question to you.
If you’ve ever found yourself in the situation where you’re cynical about the work you love — or are good at your craft, but fueled by the frustrations you want to fix — do you let younger teammates know how you feel and why you feel that way? Do you just exhale and let them be, so they can go off on their own adventures and learn their own lessons? I’m torn between having them learn from my scars or just letting them get their own.
This post’s title comes from Marge Piercy’s poem of the same name.
If this is your first time reading one of my posts, I don’t actually post thoughts like this often anymore. But, follow me here on Medium, or on Twitter, if you like reading straight-talking, practical stories about how to plan, execute and analyze design research.
Message me if you’d like to try working together, either in spite or because of how I work.
