Swaddle

After the office holiday party a few weeks ago, an epic event at a marquee hotel in the city, several of us gathered for cocktails and more conversation around a cozy table at a local bar.  Surrounded by some of my most beloved colleagues, the conversation became lively and highly personal.  Along with other controversial subjects and preferences, we found ourselves debating the concept of exporting talent, a practice at my company that involves rotating people off various teams to enable career development for the individual and bring new perspective to our clients.  An overwhelming number of managers are hesitant to do this; once they’ve recruited and trained highly skilled team members they’re reluctant to change personnel.  Everything is working, why rock the boat, right?  Being in the minority of managers who embrace this, I took the opportunity to get on my soap box, arguing the case for this practice.  Not only does it keep our employees happy, our clients benefit from a fresh set of eyes, there’s no better tincture for best practice sharing, and, oh by the way, we work for the top firm in our industry attracting the best talent, the pool to select from when replenishing a team is deep.  The way I see it, every time I enable someone super talented to move, I make a space to bring on another really great individual to my team.  How is this not a win for everyone?

I think people get hung up on the work that goes into facilitating this kind of movement, the pain that comes with separating.  It takes time to get to know the systems, tools and processes that are specific to any one client, and relationships grow to be strong, stable and comfortable over time.  Who wants to start all over again with someone new?  When we invest in those who work for us it is difficult to let them go.  No different really than the outlay of love we pour over our children and the tension that comes with releasing the dam  spilling them out into the world.

When “The Christmas Box” by Richard Paul Evans was published in 1995, I purchased a copy just like millions of others. A short story, its Christian message seemingly simple:  The true meaning of Christmas. An easy read to be consumed in one sitting; I was startled, almost, to find myself stumbling terribly over the pinnacle moment in the story.  Many of us can relate to the harried father, busy making money, blindly giving away precious time he could be spending with his young daughter that he’ll never be able to recoup. He comes to poignantly realize by the end of the tale, of course, the error of his ways.  What I couldn’t grasp at the time though was how the idea of God so loving the world that he gave his only son related to the everyday living of the characters in the story.  Eighteen years ago I wasn’t nurturing teams at work; I hadn’t had a child of my own yet; I hadn’t endured significant loss.  I couldn’t comprehend that kind of love, being naïve to the enormity. Who knew it was even possible to love someone so much that letting go would feel achingly bittersweet, that a true sacrifice leaves a gaping wound that never fully heals?

Intrigued, and understanding enough of the message to be sufficiently moved, I made a commitment to re-read the book every Christmas.  As my boys grew it made more sense to me.  But the meaning was not cemented until I worked on my sketchbook this past year. I know that sounds weird, like how could anyone even compare a piece of artwork to the Son of Man?  But here’s the thing, the creation of that book was an intense four-month labor of love. It became more than an art journal, but my life story in my own hand.  It is me; in the same way my charges at the office become my own when they bring our strategic vision to bear, in the way my children are my heart and soul walking around outside my body. 

Artists are incredibly attached to their work; it’s why so many of us can’t part with it. The Sketchbook Project is about investing in a highly personal creation, only to seal it in an envelope to be mailed to the Brooklyn Art Library, where it is made available to the world.  And for all practical purposes, the artist never sees her physical book again.  Yes, it can be accessed for a few minutes at one of the traveling exhibits, or visited at the library during a trip to New York. But you never hold it in your hands again, not the way you did when you were creating it. I debated; I honestly did, before submitting my book.  My work became me and the thought of giving it away made me pause.  Where I ended up though, was that in keeping it to myself only one person would see it, by giving it away to the art library there was a chance that so many others could be inspired by my work.  It dawned on me then that this is what it feels like when I enable my best team members at work to move on to a role with another client.  And what it will feel like when my kids leave my nest. As painful as it is, it should feel like this, because if it doesn’t hurt, you just haven’t allowed yourself to invest enough. 

At the office party I kept running into not only my former teammates, those I’d shepherded on to new teams, but their new managers, too. There was a buzz in the air that went beyond the alcoholic beverages being consumed. It was a sort of love fest.  My people so happy in their new roles; their managers thrilled to have them. And me sated to have brokered so many fabulous deals, basking in the glow of gratitude and respect on the faces of those I spoke to, thankful for the generosity.

I think part of my reason for being is to encourage others to act on the voice inside beckoning them to jump into uncharted waters. If we’re brave enough to follow our internal compass, to go where we innately want to go, we’ll end up where we are meant to be.  What’s really amazing is that by wrapping those close to us in the warmth of our love, we release the power they possess to blossom and make incredible contributions to the world.  What I’ve found in doing this is that I come to know and love my people more than I could ever imagine, making it that much harder to let go. But we have to.  In order to reach their potential, they’re only meant to be with us for a moment in time. It’s not just the meaning of Christmas; it’s the meaning of life.