“Are you sure you want to say no? Maybe you had better talk to your wife first,” my boss said.
I was confused. Why would I need to talk to me wife? I was happy with the position I had and didn’t want the “promotion.” I thought I was doing a good job, so what was the problem?
“He’s going to fire you if you say no,” Marie said. “That’s why he wants you to talk to me.”
“Really?” I asked, incredulous.
“Really,” she said.
And, well, she was essentially right. After delivering my “no,” it quickly became clear I was persona non grata at the office, and that my resignation would not be refused. And so, within a few weeks, I proffered it.
Thus I found myself, in a sense, down and out, having to grapple with the “unfairness” of it all. I had done a good job, and I was doing a good job, but I was out, and that was that. And so, I had to get myself back up.
I got to thinking about getting knocked on one’s rear recently when one of the industry’s more active CIOs, and someone I consider a friend of our publication, was put there. And I write this column with the intention of letting that individual, and any others who find themselves in the same position, know that there is life after disaster and that, handled deftly, such unpleasant happenings really can propel one to even greater heights.
First off is the “wonderful” (in this sense) dynamic of Schadenfreude. Win an award and you can almost feel the legs reaching out to trip you on your way to the podium, but crash and burn and everyone is your best friend. You are no longer a threat. They can look down upon you with the sympathy of superiority. Take advantage of this goodwill, for as you re-ascend the ladder it will diminish in proportion.
And, though you must submit to a quiet period of reflection (it is protocol to disappear for a bit), immediately get your “story” of the disaster in writing. Why? Not to spread the blame, but just to get the facts straight, facts you may never let see the light of day. Perhaps you’d been sounding the alarm of imminent destruction to all the right people but it fell on deaf ears. Maybe someday it will be appropriate to tell your side of the story — perhaps just some of it, but as time goes on and memories get fuzzy, you will lose the advantage of precise truth. Capture it now.
Then, really, really develop your lessons learned — these, countess folks like myself will offer you a platform to share. Everyone is willing to publish a success story, and those are great, but to chronicle a disaster is priceless, and the Schadenfreude referenced above will ensure a good turnout. Willingness to share a failing is prized and respected above all else. Of course, this can only be delivered after you’re back on your feet — “Here is how we did it wrong, and here is how we did it right.”
And as far as getting back on your feet is concerned, the key is never to shy away from what happened, but to promote it as a badge of honor. Be the first to bring it up in interviews, and share why it has made you a much stronger CIO. Being knocked down and rising back up puts you in an elite crew. You have shown that you can take it, and metal that has been tested is more prized than that which has yet to feel the fire. George Orwell chronicled this dynamic in his semi-autobiographical Down and Out in Paris and London (1933):
“And there is another feeling that is a great consolation in poverty. I believe everyone who has been hard up has experienced it. It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs — and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety.”
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