During the last two weeks, my feed has been showing me hot takes and reviews, both supportive and critical, ranging from lukewarm to scorching, on Careless People, an account by a Meta executive about her time working with the leadership team during the early days of this wildly popular product.
A lot of people cared deeply during their time at Meta, working to solve some incredibly difficult and ambiguous problems. Many of them (including me) still think of those times as "good times" or describe them with "good energy." What strikes me most is how many people, even now, after all these years still care so much that their identity seems tied to the job title they held at this megacorporation.
I was speaking to a friend yesterday, sitting on the manmade stoop of our concrete cluster of apartments. She shared how one of her colleagues is upset because a recent reorganization left her in charge of Brazil, whereas previously, she was responsible for all of Latin America (Completely different industry). How unfair this was for her. How it affected her career and the way others would perceive her. This change was keeping her up at night, stuck in spirals of overthinking and strategizing about how to make a business case to regain her previous scope. It was dominating her dinner conversations.
I get it. After my long stint at large tech companies, but not long after I started my own consulting firm, I winced every time I introduced myself at public engagements. My bio read: "Ex-Global Director at Corporation XYZ, now Managing Partner at Shanker-Grandpierre Consulting." I justified the "ex-MegaCorp" qualifier was required in my bio as proof that I had succeeded in the rat race. I was a top-class rat. Now hire me to fix your problems.
It was pure, undiluted, high strength anxiety. I worried so much that no matter what I did next, it wouldn’t be as impressive as what I had done before. Even though I had my own company now, and the potential in front of me was objectively huge, I wasted so much time obsessing over alerts, research updates, and minute-by-minute news flashes on issues that weren’t relevant to my new goals. It was a struggle to wean myself off that drip, drip, drip. It didn’t help me move forward; it left me overwhelmed, paralyzed, and stuck in stasis. More importantly, the time I spent keeping up with all that noise wasn’t helping me with what I needed to do next. It didn't matter that I was in the sun, by a beach, in a floppy oversized hat.
That whole period lasted all summer. I was circling the drain. I couldn’t make any decisions.
I remember when it shifted for me. It was autumn. I was at Cambridge City Centre, waiting in line at a taxi stand, debating whether to take the bus instead to get to the university. My turn came up at the taxi line. I still couldn’t decide.
A gentleman behind me, understandably annoyed, asked, "Are you in the queue?"
"I’m not sure," I said.
"Either you are, or you’re not,"
I got into the next taxi and put away my phone and Google Maps. Maybe it was the eviscerating tone or the posh accent, but I sat in the cab thinking, Either I’m in it, or I’m not. And I realized: I was decidedly not.
I’m better now than I was last autumn. I’m more intentional with my time. I still relapse occasionally, going down the rabbit hole of updates and takes on the Pravda Network , but it happens far less often.
I understand caring about your work, caring about the values of your employer, and caring about your colleagues and your mission in life, especially if you’re one of the lucky few who have it figured out. But if, after decades, you’re still engaging so vehemently with things that happened so long ago, and what your job title was back then, I urge you, my friend, to ask yourself:
Wouldn’t you rather do something new, something fun, something exciting ?
Related Posts
