Middle Management in America

What a tough day. I manage a Division of about 30 people in 4 teams. One of our younger team members -- a really good and smart person -- let me know he's taken another job. Another of our newer team members let me know he'd like to change teams because he feels the relationship with his manager has suffered irreparable harm. Another senior team member called to share his frustration with another dynamic that's been troubling in the past year and has flared up again. A person from a different department met with me to say that the way we've set up a certain requirement that obligates his team to work with outside groups has led to them being abused and seen as the "hand of injustice" (take that, Adam Smith!). 

I took lunch to one of our team leaders, who was losing her young team member, to check in and make sure she wasn't taking it too hard. She was. We talked about it and around it and scratched our heads, shook our fists, said lots of things that boiled down to "these pesky kids! what do they want these days? all these unreasonable expectations for expertise within months, promotions in a couple years, and absolutely no boredom or discomfort or challenge, all while knowing exactly what they're supposed to be doing and getting thanked and petted all the f#^$&%*ng time."

And then I had coffee with my college mentor, who gave me the tough love and broke the hard news that none of this is new, none of it is solvable, and yeah, middle management is the worst. 

And as I was driving home, another colleague let me know she just gave her 2 week notice, leaving me with one more broken link to a department that I desperately need in order to succeed at my job. 

What a day. 

I tried medicating with songs of loss and angst but had no patience with wallowing. Instead, I pulled up my meditation app and leaped at the title "Letting go of unwanted feelings." Listened to it twice. Tried to release my fear and heaviness to the powers of renewal and healing that we call by many names. After all, much of this is not mine to fix. My little control freak self would love to take it all on, even as it seems insurmountable and intractable. 

What I want for the world is for people to get better at 2 things:

1. Setting boundaries, keeping them, telling others when they cross one, and requesting that someone do better to respect them going forward.
2. Hear feedback, take it in, apologize, repair, and do better going forward. 

As a young person, the world seemed very black and white, and it seemed possible and even necessary in order to be a good person to never hurt anyone, that you could do better and better until you never made any mistakes, or at least none that affected other people. 

Now, I think growth is almost entirely related to learning curves associated with failures big and small. I've heard this called your "growing edge." That resonates with me. 

Brene Brown says, "Clear is kind." And others say nice is often not kind. I say, "Feedback is kind." And taking in feedback is both kind and wise and all-too-rare these days. After all, we are very aware that people are not perfect, but we seemed outraged when anyone bothers us in any way. Why didn't they know better not to do that? And why do we have to tell them? Shouldn't they already know? How could they not know?

My son, 11, and on the autism spectrum, has learned that it is an unreasonable expectation to think that other people know what's in his mind if he doesn't say it out loud. 

My daughter, 14, and one of the most emotional intelligent people I've encountered, is learning that she cannot expect anyone to stand up for her, that she must stand up for herself like she does for her friends without blinking an eye. 

I am hopeful that I am raising people who will be able to manage conflict at work, and at home. 

In the meantime, I am looking around at the ashes from multiple fires today and wondering - what is my role in all of this? How does this get better? What can I do, and if there's nothing, what will I do?

The leverage from the middle feels laughable.