Exoricising the corporate demons
Today was a big test. I logged onto my business email and picked up the promotions list.
Context: As a large corporate, my erstwhile employer practises an annual promotion process. It's a repulsive, hypocritical process that has a track record of rewarding the unworthy brown-nosers and disregarding the people who are spending all their time actually delivering on their work and hence have not the inclination or time to kiss arse. Over the period of about 4 months, several largely self-interested managers write disinterested recommendations out of obligation, or glowing paeans to their favourites. A meeting is held where line managers and fat partners barter over who makes the cut. Then, a few weeks later, a spreadsheet is sent around to the workforce with the list of those who made the cut. It's a horrible day for those who don't get the nod - you already know you lost out, but you have to go through the indignity of omission, whereupon your colleagues immediately identify your absence from the list and there are uneasy moments of consolation or simple avoidance of the issue.
OK, my description of this process expresses a degree of bitterness, and maybe I exaggerate a little. But you must understand, the career promotion process used to be a point of soreness for me. At the beginning, things went well. I got an accelerated promotion within 17 months of starting my job, and I seemed to be on the fast track to swift elevation. Then, I began to see that things were not going to be rosy. Until about March last year, I was one of the guys who worked hard; I was committed; I gave the Man every spare moment to advance the project; and I was good at what I did. But it never got recognised - I was shit at self-promotion. In the end, I was overlooked. The sense of injustice I felt would chew at my gut at night, warding off the peace of sleep my heart longed for. For those who have read the early entries of my blog, it was my realising how badly wound up I was at this ludicrous process of pursuit after false career gratification that forced me to undertake my hiatus, to discard this stress and to take the time to regenerate my better parts; to re-skin myself, in reptilian terms...
So, as I began, this was a big test for me. Opening up the excel, would I see the names of peers and others and feel pangs of jealousy and rage? Would I feel that I had fucked everything up by not fighting to get my name on the list?
The answer is, no. I opened up the document, looked through calmly, saw names of people I knew, some friends and a few erstwhile rivals, and I smiled. Nothing negative, no rancour or bitterness of any sort. Instead, I immediately wrote emails to all the guys I knew who had made the promotion list, and congratulated with total sincerity. I was genuinely happy for them, and I felt the compassion of a friend - knowing what it must mean to them, and the relief they must be feeling made me feel good for them.
This magnanimity could only be achieved by my reaching a very particular state: emancipation. I've emancipated myself! I'm free of the sense of obligation to the artificial glory that such career medals offer. I'm free. I could stay outside the corporate world, or I could return, but I don't think I'd be the same coiled spring as before. I just want to do something worthwhile with my life, to get paid enough so as I can pay the bills and save a little, have a reasonable level of comfort, and most importantly - go home, spend time with the people I care about, read, write, drink scotch, smoke a cigar now and then, and send & receive messages of genuine feelings. Moreover, I'm really enjoying my work at the Institute and, however precarious our funding and finances are, I think my project designs are resilient. Suddenly, interest in the designs is growing. Some exciting opportunities are emerging. I'm designing without compromise or concession to the rules of the firm. It has the stamp of "me" on it. It feels like art, and I mean that in a personal sense - what I'm doing will endure, even in the restricted constituency of the Institute.
I'm still smiling. It was a test, indeed, and I think, I hope, I feel... I passed.
Context: As a large corporate, my erstwhile employer practises an annual promotion process. It's a repulsive, hypocritical process that has a track record of rewarding the unworthy brown-nosers and disregarding the people who are spending all their time actually delivering on their work and hence have not the inclination or time to kiss arse. Over the period of about 4 months, several largely self-interested managers write disinterested recommendations out of obligation, or glowing paeans to their favourites. A meeting is held where line managers and fat partners barter over who makes the cut. Then, a few weeks later, a spreadsheet is sent around to the workforce with the list of those who made the cut. It's a horrible day for those who don't get the nod - you already know you lost out, but you have to go through the indignity of omission, whereupon your colleagues immediately identify your absence from the list and there are uneasy moments of consolation or simple avoidance of the issue.
OK, my description of this process expresses a degree of bitterness, and maybe I exaggerate a little. But you must understand, the career promotion process used to be a point of soreness for me. At the beginning, things went well. I got an accelerated promotion within 17 months of starting my job, and I seemed to be on the fast track to swift elevation. Then, I began to see that things were not going to be rosy. Until about March last year, I was one of the guys who worked hard; I was committed; I gave the Man every spare moment to advance the project; and I was good at what I did. But it never got recognised - I was shit at self-promotion. In the end, I was overlooked. The sense of injustice I felt would chew at my gut at night, warding off the peace of sleep my heart longed for. For those who have read the early entries of my blog, it was my realising how badly wound up I was at this ludicrous process of pursuit after false career gratification that forced me to undertake my hiatus, to discard this stress and to take the time to regenerate my better parts; to re-skin myself, in reptilian terms...
So, as I began, this was a big test for me. Opening up the excel, would I see the names of peers and others and feel pangs of jealousy and rage? Would I feel that I had fucked everything up by not fighting to get my name on the list?
The answer is, no. I opened up the document, looked through calmly, saw names of people I knew, some friends and a few erstwhile rivals, and I smiled. Nothing negative, no rancour or bitterness of any sort. Instead, I immediately wrote emails to all the guys I knew who had made the promotion list, and congratulated with total sincerity. I was genuinely happy for them, and I felt the compassion of a friend - knowing what it must mean to them, and the relief they must be feeling made me feel good for them.
This magnanimity could only be achieved by my reaching a very particular state: emancipation. I've emancipated myself! I'm free of the sense of obligation to the artificial glory that such career medals offer. I'm free. I could stay outside the corporate world, or I could return, but I don't think I'd be the same coiled spring as before. I just want to do something worthwhile with my life, to get paid enough so as I can pay the bills and save a little, have a reasonable level of comfort, and most importantly - go home, spend time with the people I care about, read, write, drink scotch, smoke a cigar now and then, and send & receive messages of genuine feelings. Moreover, I'm really enjoying my work at the Institute and, however precarious our funding and finances are, I think my project designs are resilient. Suddenly, interest in the designs is growing. Some exciting opportunities are emerging. I'm designing without compromise or concession to the rules of the firm. It has the stamp of "me" on it. It feels like art, and I mean that in a personal sense - what I'm doing will endure, even in the restricted constituency of the Institute.
I'm still smiling. It was a test, indeed, and I think, I hope, I feel... I passed.
posted by nickwong8 at 12:05 am
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