Thoughts on Motivation and My 40-Year Career

I’ve never published an essay quite like this. I’ve written about my life before, reams of stuff actually, because that’s how I process what I think, but never for public consumption.

I’ve been pushing myself to write more lately because my co-authors and I have a whole fucking book to write between now and October. After ten years, you’d think this would be getting easier, not harder.

There’s something about putting out such memoiristic material that feels uncomfortably feminine to me. (Wow, ok.) I want to be known for my work, not for having a dramatic personal life. I love my family and don’t want to put them on display for the world to judge. And I never want the people I care about to feel like I am mining their experiences for clicks and content, whether that’s my family or my coworkers.

Many of the writing exercises I’ve been doing lately have ended up pulling on threads from my backstory, and the reason I haven’t published them is because I find myself thinking, “this won’t make any sense to people unless they know where I’m coming from.”

So hey, fuck it, let’s do this.

I went to college at the luckiest time

I left home when I was 15 years old. I left like a bottle rocket taking off – messy, explosive, a trail of destruction in my wake, and with absolutely zero targeting mechanisms.

It tells you a lot about how sheltered I was that the only place I could think of to go was university. I had never watched TV or been to a sports game or listened to popular music. I had never been to a doctor, I was quite unvaccinated.

I grew up in the backwoods of Idaho, the oldest of six, all of us homeschooled. I would go for weeks without seeing anyone other than my family. The only way to pass the time was by reading books or playing piano, so I did quite a lot of both. I called up the University of Idaho, asked for an admissions packet, hand wrote myself a transcript and gave myself all As, drove up and auditioned for the music department, and was offered a partial ride scholarship for classical piano performance.

I told my parents I was leaving, with or without their blessing or financial support. I left with neither.

My timing turned out to be flawless. I arrived on the cusp of the Internet age – they were wiring dorms for ethernet the year I enrolled. Maybe even more important, I arrived in the final, fading glory years of affordable state universities.

I worked multiple minimum wage jobs to put myself through school; day care, front desk, laundry, night audit. It was grueling, round the clock labor, but it was possible, if you were stubborn enough. I didn’t have a Social Security number (long story), I wasn’t old enough to take out loans, I couldn’t get financial aid because my parents didn’t file income taxes (again, long story). There was no help coming, I sank or I swam.

I found computers and the Internet around the same time as it dawned on me that everybody who studied music seemed to end up poor as an adult. I grew up too poor to buy canned vegetables or new underwear; we were like an 1800s family, growing our food, making our clothes, hand-me-downs til they fell apart.

Fuck being poor. Fuck it so hard. I was out.

I lost my music scholarship, but I started building websites and running systems for the university, then for local businesses. I dropped out and took a job in San Francisco. I went back, abortively; I dropped out again.

By the time I was 20 I was back in SF for good, making a salary five times what my father had made.

I grew up with a very coherent belief system that did not work for me

A lot of young people who flee their fundamentalist upbringing do so because they were abused and/or lost their faith, usually due to the hypocrisy of their leaders. Not me. I left home still believing the whole package – that evolution was a fraud, that the earth was created in seven days, that woman was created from Adam’s rib to be a submissive helpmate for their husband, that birth control was a sin, that anyone who believed differently was going to hell.

My parents loved us deeply and unshakably, and they were not hypocrites. In the places I grew up, the people who believed in God and went to church and lived a certain way were the ones who had their shit together, and the people who believed differently had broken lives. Reality seemed to confirm the truth of all we were taught, no matter how outlandish it sounds.

So I fully believed it was all true. I also knew it did not work for me. I did not want a small life. I did not want to be the support system behind some godly dude. I wanted power, money, status, fame, autonomy, success. I wanted to leave a crater in the world.

I was not a rebellious child, believe it or not. I loved my parents and wanted to make them proud. But as I entered my teens, I became severely depressed, and turned inward and hurt myself in all the ways young people do.

I left because staying there was killing me, and ultimately, I think my parents let me go because they saw it too.

Running away from things worked until it didn’t

I didn’t know what I wanted out of life other than all of it; right now, and my first decade out on my own was a hoot. It was in my mid twenties that everything started to fall apart.

I was an earnest kid who liked to study and think about the meaning of life, but when I bolted, I slammed the door to my conscience shut. I knew I was going to hell, but since I couldn’t live the other way, I made the very practical determination based on actuarial tables that I could to go my own way for a few decades, then repent and clean up my shit before I died. (Judgment Day was one variable that gave me heartburn, since it could come at any time.)

I was not living in accordance with my personal values and ethics, to put it lightly. I compartmentalized; it didn’t bother me, until it did. It started leaking into my dreams every night, and then it took over my waking life. I was hanging on by a thread; something had to give.

My way out, unexpectedly, started with politics. I started mainlining books about politics and economics during the Iraq War, which then expanded to history, biology, philosophy, other religious traditions, and everything else. (You can still find a remnant of my reading list here.)

When I was 13, I had an ecstatic religious experience; I was sitting in church, stewing over going to hell, and was suddenly filled with a glowing sense of warmth and acceptance. It lasted for nearly two weeks, and that’s how I knew I was “saved”.

In my late 20s, after a few years of intense study and research, I had a similar ecstatic experience walking up the stairs from the laundry room. I paused, I thought “maybe there is no God; maybe there is nobody out there judging me; maybe it all makes sense”, and it all clicked into place, and I felt high for days, suffused with peace and joy.

My career didn’t really take off until after that. I always had a job, but I wasn’t thinking about tech after hours. At first I was desperately avoiding my problems and self-medicating, later I became obsessed with finding answers. What did I believe about taxation, public policy, voting systems, the gender binary, health care, the whole messy arc of American history? I was an angry, angry atheist for a while. I filled notebook after notebook with handwritten notes; if I wasn’t working, I was studying.

And then, gradually, I wound down. The intensity, the high, tapered off. I started dating, realized I was poly and queer, and slowly chilled the fuck out. And that’s when I started being able to dedicate the creative, curious parts of my brain to my job in tech.

Why am I telling you all this?

Will Larson has talked a lot about how his underlying motivation is “advancing the industry”. I love that for him. He is such a structured thinker and prolific writer, and the industry needs his help, very badly.

For a while I thought that was my motivation too. And for sure, that’s a big part of it, particularly when it comes to observability and my day job. (Y’all, it does not need to be this hard. Modern observability is the cornerstone and prerequisite for high performing engineering teams, etc etc.)

But when I think about what really gets me activated on a molecular level, it’s a little bit different. It’s about living a meaningful life, and acting with integrity, and building things of enduring value instead of tearing them down.

When I say it that way, it sounds like sitting around on the mountain meditating on the meaning of life, and that is not remotely what I mean. Let me try again.

For me, work has been a source of liberation

It’s very uncool these days to love your job or talk about hard work. But work has always been a source of liberation for me. My work has brought me so much growth and development and community and friendship. It brings meaning to my life, and the joy of creation. I want this for myself. I want this for anyone else who wants it too.

I understand why this particular tide has turned. So many people have had jobs where their employers demanded total commitment, but felt no responsibility to treat them well or fairly in return. So many people have never experienced work as anything but a depersonalizing grind, or an exercise in exploitation, and that is heartbreaking.

I don’t think there’s anything morally superior about people who want their work to be a vehicle for personal growth instead of just a paycheck. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with just wanting a paycheck, or wanting to work the bare minimum to get by. But it’s not what I want for myself, and I don’t think I’m alone in this.

I feel intense satisfaction and a sense of achievement when I look back on my career. On a practical level, I’ve been able to put family members through college, help with down payments, and support artists in my community. All of this would have been virtually unimaginable to me growing up.

I worked a lot harder on the farm than I ever have in front of a keyboard, and got a hell of a lot less for my efforts.

(People who glamorize things like farming, gardening, canning and freezing, taking care of animals, cooking and caretaking, and other forms of manual labor really get under my skin. All of these things make for lovely hobbies, but subsistence labor is neither fun nor meaningful. Trust me on this one.)

My engineer/manager pendulum days

I loved working as an engineer. I loved how fast the industry changes, and how hard you have to scramble to keep up. I loved the steady supply of problems to fix, systems to design, and endless novel catastrophes to debug. The whole Silicon Valley startup ecosystem felt like it could not have been more perfectly engineered to supply steady drips of dopamine to my brain.

I liked working as an engineering manager. Eh, that might be an overstatement. But I have strong opinions and I like being in charge, and I really wanted more access to information and influence over decisions, so I pushed my way into the role more than once.

If Honeycomb hadn’t happened, I am sure I would have bounced back and forth between engineer and manager for the rest of my career. I never dreamed about climbing the ladder or starting a company. My attitude towards middle management could best be described as amiable contempt, and my interest in the business side of things was nonexistent.

I have always despised people who think they’re too good to work for other people, and that describes far too many of the founders I’ve met.

Operating a company draws on a different kind of meaning

I got the chance to start a company in 2016, so I took it, almost on a whim. Since then I have done so many things I never expected to do. I’ve been a founder, CEO, CTO, I’ve raised money, hired and fired other execs, run organizations, crafted strategy, and come to better understand and respect the critical role played by sales, marketing, HR, and other departments. No one is more astonished than I am to find me still here, still doing this.

But there is joy to be found in solving systems problems, even the ones that are less purely technical. There is joy to be found in building a company, or competing in a marketplace.

To be honest, this is not a joy that came to me swiftly or easily. I’ve been doing this for the past 9.5 years, and I’ve been happy doing it for maybe the past 2-3 years. But it has always felt like work worth doing. And ultimately, I think I’m less interested in my own happiness (whatever that means) than I am interested in doing work that feels worth doing.

Work is one of the last remaining places where we are motivated to learn from people we don’t agree with and find common pursuit with people we are ideologically opposed to. I think that’s meaningful. I think it’s worth doing.

Reality doesn’t give a shit about ideology

I am a natural born extremist. But when you’re trying to operate a business and win in the marketplace, ideological certainty crashes hard into the rocks of reality. I actually find this deeply motivating.

I spent years hammering out my own personal ontological beliefs about what is right and just, what makes a life worth living, what responsibilities we have to each another. I didn’t really draw on those beliefs very often as an engineer/manager, at least not consciously. That all changed dramatically after starting a company.

It’s one thing to stand off to the side and critique the way a company is structured and the decisions leaders make about compensation, structure, hiring/firing, etc. But creation is harder than critique (one of my favorite Jeff Gray quotes) — so, so, so much harder. And reality resists easy answers.

Being an adult, to me, has meant making peace with a multiplicity of narratives. The world I was born into had a coherent story and a set of ideals that worked really well for a lot of people, but it was killing me. Not every system works for every person, and that’s okay. That’s life. Startups aren’t for everyone, either.

The struggle is what brings your ideals to life

Almost every decision you make running a company has some ethical dimension. Yet the foremost responsibility you have to your stakeholders, from investors to employees, is to make the business succeed, to win in the marketplace. Over-rotating on ethical repercussions of every move can easily cause you to get swamped in the details and fail at your prime directive.

Sometimes you may have a strongly held belief that some mainstream business practice is awful, so you take a different path, and then you learn the hard way why it is that people don’t take that path. (This has happened to me more times than I can count. 🙈)

Ideals in a vacuum are just not that interesting. If I wrote an essay droning on and on about “leading with integrity”, no one would read it, and nor should they. That’s boring. What’s interesting is trying to win and do hard things, while honoring your ideals.

Shooting for the stars and falling short, innovating, building on the frontier of what’s possible, trying but failing, doing exciting things that exceed your hopes and dreams with a team just as ambitious and driven as you are, while also holding your ideals to heart — that’s fucking exciting. That’s what brings your ideals to life.

We have lived through the golden age of tech

I recognize that I have been profoundly lucky to be employed through the golden age of tech. It’s getting tougher out there to enter the industry, change jobs, or lead with integrity.

It’s a tough time to be alive, in general. There are macro scale political issues that I have no idea how to solve or fix. Wages used to rise in line with productivity, and now they don’t, and haven’t since the mid 70s. Capital is slurping up all the revenue and workers get an ever decreasing share, and I don’t know how to fix that, either.

But I don’t buy the argument that just because something has been touched by capitalism or finance it is therefore irreversibly tainted, or that there is no point in making capitalist institutions better. The founding arguments of capitalism were profoundly moral ones, grounded in a keen understanding of human nature. (Adam Smith’s “Wealth of Nations” gets all the attention, but his other book, “Theory of Moral Sentiments”, is even better, and you can’t read one without the other.)

As a species we are both individualistic and communal, selfish and cooperative, and the miracle of capitalism is how effectively it channels the self-interested side of our nature into the common good.

Late stage capitalism, however, along with regulatory capture, enshittification, and the rest of it, has made the modern world brutally unkind to most people. Tech was, for a shining moment in time, a path out of poverty for smart kids who were willing to work their asses off. It’s been the only reliable growth industry of my lifetime.

It remains, for my money, the best job in the world. Or it can be. It’s collaborative, creative, and fun; we get paid scads of money to sit in front of a computer and solve puzzles all day. So many people seem to be giving up on the idea that work can ever be a place of meaning and collaboration and joy. I think that sucks. It’s too soon to give up! If we prematurely abandon tech to its most exploitative elements, we guarantee its fate.

If you want to change the world, go into business

Once upon a time, if you had strongly held ideals and wanted to change the world, you went into government or nonprofit work.

For better or for worse (okay, mostly worse), we live in an age where corporate power dominates. If you want to change the world, go into business.

The world needs, desperately, people with ethics and ideals who can win at business. We can’t let all the people who care about people go into academia or medicine or low wage service jobs. We can’t leave the ranks of middle and upper management to be filled by sycophants and sociopaths.

There’s nothing sinister about wanting power; what matters is what you do with it. Power, like capitalism, is a tool, and can be bent to powerful ends both good and evil. If you care about people, you should be unashamed about wanting to amass power and climb the ladder.

There are a lot of so-called best practices in this industry that are utterly ineffective (cough, whiteboarding B-trees in an interview setting), yet they got cargo culted and copied around for years. Why? Because the company that originated the practice made a lot of money. This is stupid, but it also presents an opportunity. All you need to do is be a better company, then make a lot of money. 😉

People need institutions

I am a fundamentalist at heart, just like my father. I was born to be a bomb thrower and a contrarian, a thorn in the side of the smug moderate establishment. Unfortunately, I was born in an era where literally everyone is a fucking fundamentalist and the establishment is holding on by a thread.

I’ve come to believe that the most quietly radical, rebellious thing I can possibly do is to be an institutionalist, someone who builds instead of performatively tearing it all down.

People need institutions. We crave the feeling of belonging to something much larger than ourselves. It’s one of the most universal experiences of our species.

One of the reasons modern life feels so fragmented and hard is because so many of our institutions have broken down or betrayed the people they were supposed to serve. So many of the associations that used to frame our lives and identities — church, government, military, etc — have tolerated or covered up so much predatory behavior and corruption, it no longer surprises anyone.

We’ve spent the past few decades ripping down institutions and drifting away from them. But we haven’t stopped wanting them, or needing them.

I hope, perhaps naively, that we are entering into a new era of rebuilding, sadder but wiser. An era of building institutions with accountability and integrity, institutions with enduring value, that we can belong to and take pride in… not because we were coerced or deceived, not because they were the only option, but because they bring us joy and meaning. Because we freely choose them, because they are good for us.

The second half of your career is about purpose

It seems very normal to enter the second half of your 40 year career thinking a lot about meaning and purpose. You spend the first decade or so hoovering up skill sets, the second finding your place and what feeds you, and then, inevitably, you start to think about what it all means and what your legacy will be.

That’s definitely where I’m at, as I think about the second half of my career. I want to take risks. I want to play big and win bigger. I want to show that hard work isn’t just a scam inflicted on those who don’t know any better. If we win, I want the people I work with to earn lifechanging amounts of money, so they can buy homes and send their kids to college. I want to show that work can still be an avenue for liberation and community and personal growth, for those of us who still want that.

I care about this industry and the people in it so much, because it’s been such a gift to me. I want to do what I can to make it a better place for generations to come. I want to build institutions worth belonging to.

Thoughts on Motivation and My 40-Year Career

“Founder Mode” and the Art of Mythmaking

I’ve never been good at “hot takes”. Anyone who knows anything about marketing can tell you that the best time to share your opinion about something is when everyone is all worked up about it. Hot topics drive clicks and eyeballs and attention en masse.

Unfortunately, my internal combustion engine doesn’t run that way. If anything, my fuel runs the other way. If everybody’s already buzzing about something, I feel like chances are, everything that needs to be said is already being said by someone else, so why should I bother?

Earlier this year I started writing a piece on why “hire great people and get out of their way” is such terrible, dangerous, counterproductive advice to give anyone in a leadership role. Then Paul Graham dropped his famous essay on “founder mode”, inspired by a talk given at a YC event by Brian Chesky. PG called it “a talk everyone who was there will remember…Most founders I talked to afterward said it was the best they’d ever heard.” The internet went nuts for it.

What I should have done: put my head down and finished the fucking piece. 🙄

What I actually did: ragetweeted a long thread from bed, read a bunch of other people’s takes, then went “well, all the bases seem to be covered” and lost all interest in finishing.

For the curious, here are the takes I really liked:

A month and a half later, we all got to see what the fuss was about. Keith Rabois interviewed Brian Chesky at a Khosla Ventures event in NYC and posted the ensuing 45 min video to YouTube, calling it “Founder Mode and the Art of Hiring”.

The gripping tale of Airbnb’s dramatic rise, crash, and rebirth

Chesky starts off by relating a story about how Airbnb in its early years hired way too many people, way too fast, and buckled under all the nasty consequences of hypergrowth. Lack of clarity and direction, excessive coordination costs, lack of focus, layers of bureaucracy that added no value or expertise, empire building, you name it. 

So it’s 2019, and it’s just starting to dawn on Brian Chesky that he has this massive clusterfuck on his hands. But Airbnb is barrelling towards an IPO, so he feels like his hands are tied. Then COVID hits. Airbnb loses 80% of its business in 8 weeks, going from “the hottest IPO since Uber” to facing possible bankruptcy and dissolution, practically overnight. You never want to let a crisis go to waste, so Chesky seizes the opportunity to restructure the company and make a bunch of massive changes.

This is a fascinating story, right? It is! Or it should be. A young, first-time founder hits it big with his first startup, barrels through a decade of hypergrowth and free money towards a white hot IPO, then belatedly realizes everything he’s done has resulted in a big, bloated, horrendously inefficient company where nobody can get shit done and all the top talent is leaving. Then comes the pandemic. Holy shit! How will he turn things around??

This is an incredible story. I want to hear this story

The problem is that he somehow manages to tell it in the most aggravating possible way, where he is a lone hero, buffeted by mediocrity and held back by his own employees at every turn. Actual quote:

“Oh my god, I guess I’m not crazy. I’m just made to believe I’m crazy by my own employees. You’re not crazy. Even though people who work for you tell you you are. You’re not crazy.” 

He talks about the people who worked for him in supremely belittling terms — “C players”, “incapable”, “mediocre”, “worst people”. And he takes absolutely zero responsibility for the corporate disaster that developed in slow motion under his watch, while taking ALL the credit for its recovery.

How might another person have told this story?

I mean…if it was me, I might have started off by confessing that “Wow, I did not do a good job as CEO for the first decade of running my company. I over-hired, underspecified the roles, did a terrible job of setting expectations and rewarding the skills and behaviors that really mattered, didn’t know what org charts were for, and in general just completely failed to build a company that valued efficiency, or had any kind of effective strategy or culture of high performance”.

If Brian Chesky had done that I would have been like, “THIS MAN IS A HERO, EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND COME HEAR HIS HARD WON WISDOM”. Instead, the way he tells the story, the problem is always everyone else, and the solution is always more Brian Chesky.

But Brian Chesky created the fucking problems, by being bad at running the business! 

There is actually no shame in this! He is right: being a CEO is fucking hard. It does not come naturally. Nobody is born good at it. It takes a lot of hard work and pain and suffering to become someone who is good at running a company. I was CEO of Honeycomb for 3.5 years, and it almost killed me. I never got good at it. I have immense respect for the people who do it well.

But this attitude he has, where the buck stops literally everywhere but him — is one I find so fucking repellent. Ethics aside, I also feel like it constitutes a material risk to any company when the CEO is so lacking in humility and self-awareness. (I can leave room for the possibility that he is actually humble as fuck and he just…chose not to share those reflections with us in this talk. 🤷)

It took me a month to make it through the entire recording

I’ll be honest, I made it about three minutes into the video before I blew my fucking top and closed the tab. It made me so angry. This fucking guy. It pushes all my buttons.

But then I had a few conversations with other founders who did watch the whole thing, people I genuinely respect. I kept hearing there was great advice in the piece, if you can just get past the attitude and total lack of accountability.

It took me over a month to make it through the full thing, in fits and starts, but once I finally did, I had to admit that they were right. There is good advice inside, and there are reasonable principles embedded in this talk. Chesky seems to have successfully turned his company around, after all. That’s a really hard thing to do!

In the end, I forced myself to buckle down and get this piece out because … between PG’s “founder mode” essay and the wide distribution of the Chesky interview, these opinions have already imprinted onto generations of Silicon Valley founders and leaders. They have seeped into the water table, and there’s no going back.

I would PREFER the enduring legacy of both “founder mode” and Brian Chesky’s “The Art of Hiring” to be one that moves the industry forward in material ways, and not one that further entrenches the Silicon Valley cult of the founder, Great Man of History, 10x engineer Lone Ranger superhero John Galt type bullshit that has dogged our heels for decades. And there is some decent material here! We can work with this.

So let’s take the major points he makes, one at a time, and mine them for gold nuggets. Here we go!

The story, in Brian Chesky’s words

My apologies for the extremely long quotes, but I think they set the stage well. (Lightly edited for readability.)

“You know, we were one of the first ‘unicorns’, before that was a term. And it was amazing for a bit, from like 2009-2014. It was awesome. It was fun. It was exciting. And then one day it was horrible. And that day went on for like six years (emphasis mine). And basically what happened was I realized you can kind of be born a good founder…I think I was a pretty good founder the day we started the company…But I’m not sure any of us are born good CEOs.

But the other problem with being a CEO is I think almost all the advice and everything they teach at like Harvard Business School…is wrong. For example, the role of a great leader is to hire great people and empower them to do their job…If you do that, your company will be destroyed.”

I’ve never been to Harvard Business School, but I would be pretty surprised to learn that they don’t cover things like organizational structure, span of control, or operational efficiency.

We had a company where we were like a matrix organization. And so like we had all these different teams. And by the way, there’s no governor of how many teams there are. So teams can create teams, can create sub teams, can create sub teams, that people can decide how many manager levels they create. Like if you’re not careful people do this. And why do they do this? Because they want to have new teams.”

(The “governor of how many teams there are” is whoever leads your People team or HR, btw, who in turn rolls up to the CEO. Again, org design is a pretty traditional and well-studied aspect of operating a company.)

So let’s take a marketing or creative department. There’s a team in Airbnb doing graphics and different parts of the site need graphics, advertising needs graphics. And when it was five teams, the five teams would ask the graphics department for graphics and they’d have like five requests. And then pretty soon it’s 20 teams and once it’s 20 teams…they’re like the deli, there’s a line out the block, there’s a multi-month wait. And then what happens is the graphics team, the central service, kind of like gives up and everything seems pointless. And the teams waiting forever give up and they say, ‘give me my own people’. So now they get their own graphics team. So now you have 5 or 10 graphics teams. And you can do the same thing with technology. And product. Oh, you can have 10 data teams that have different metrics and we can go down the list. 

So now you have 10 divisions. Now those 10 divisions are wanting to go in different directions. And they have general managers. And GMs are like little Russian babushka dolls. They want to create miniature GMs and miniature-miniature GMs. And so now you don’t have 10 teams, you’ve got actually 100 teams, because you’ve got these little babushkas running around and they’re going in 100 directions with different technology…

You end up with a lot of bureaucracy. You end up with a company where there’s meetings about meetings where metrics and strategic priorities are the only thing that bind the company together. There’s no cohesive product roadmap, everything is a different time horizon. It’s all short term oriented. And the biggest problem of all is a CEO gets separated from their own product.

And I noticed this thing where there was more bureaucracy, there were these divisions, the divisions then they have to advocate for resources. That advocacy creates politics. And then you have a situation where it’s hard to track what everyone’s doing. So you have like this free for all. There’s not a lot of accountability, which leads to complacency. The complacency means that, like the bad people, the good people are indistinguishable. So the good people tend to move on. They say the company’s changed, the company slows down, and one day you wake up.

Sounds like a mess, all right.

(Chesky’s use of the passive voice here is truly spectacular. Who was in charge for those horrible six years while all this organizational fuckery and uncontrolled sprawl was happening? Oh right, you were.)

To sum up: before the pandemic, Airbnb seems to have had multiple business divisions, each of which had its own GM and a whole ass org structure, with its own engineering, design, marketing teams, etc. This seems wildly weird and inefficient and crazy to me, given that Airbnb only has one product, which is Airbnb? But, they did. So yeah, I am unsurprised that this did not work well.

Which brings us to our first lesson on efficiency.

You should have as few employees as possible

“So what did I do? The first thing I did is I went from a divisional structure to a functional organization. Functional organizations are when you have design and engineering and product management or product marketing and sales. So we went back to a functional organization where our goal was to have as few employees as possible…We said we were the Navy Seals, not the Navy. We want a small, lean, elite, highly skilled team, not a team of kind of mid-level battalion type people. And the reason why is that every person brings with them a communication tax.” 

Basically, Brian Chesky is rediscovering this graphic and it’s blowing his mind.

Brooks’ Law

I feel like this should be really fucking obvious, but I guess the legacy of hypergrowth companies proves that it is not: You should ALWAYS have as few employees as possible. Always. Hiring more people should never be the first lever you reach for, it’s what you do after exhausting your other options. Doing great things with a small team is always something to brag about.

(Okay…maybe not ALWAYS-always. There are some business models where your revenue scales linearly along with headcount, but for your average VC-funded technology startup, “we want a small, lean, elite, highly skilled team” is like saying “you should eat vegetables”.)

Your managers should be subject matter experts

“Oh and by the way, you have leaders that are, quote, managers. I don’t like managers. We don’t have a single manager at Airbnb. And I put that in air quotes. A manager that doesn’t know how to do the job is like a cavalry general that can’t ride a horse. A lot of companies do that. So we only allowed managers that were experts but for a long time we had managers. And one day I woke up and I realized I had 50 year olds, managing 40 year olds, managing 30 year olds, managing interns, doing the job with all these layers that weren’t adding any value.”

The disgust in his voice when he says the word “managers” is palpable. And it’s gross. You can talk about the importance of managers being highly skilled in their domain — and I have, many times! — without treating people with contempt, or disparaging them in public for performing the exact jobs that, again, your own company defined and hired them to do, and they faithfully did, for years.

The moral of the story is valid. The tone is unwarranted and disrespectful (and the whiff of ageism is just the rotten little cherry on top).

As for his claim that “A lot of companies do that” — hire managers that aren’t experts in their field, who just do pure people management — no? Maybe? Not that I’m aware of, not in the past decade. Citation needed.

You don’t manage people, you manage people through the work

“I got rid of all quote managers or they left the company and we said you can only manage the function if you’re an expert. So like the head of design has to actually manage the work first. You don’t manage people. You manage people through the work. I learned this from Johnny Ive because most heads of design, at most tech companies don’t actually manage design. They manage the people. Johnny Ive would say no, my main job is to manage the work and I build a team and we design together. But I’m mostly looking at the work. I’m not like having career conversations all day long. That’s crazy.”

Again, I’m not sure where he gets this idea that at “most tech companies”, the head of design is just like…hired from Starbucks or something for their people management skills? So mystifying.

“The best way to get rid of meetings is to not have so many people”

“The reason there’s too many meetings in a company isn’t because they don’t have no-meeting Wednesdays, it’s because they have too many people. People create meetings, and the best way to get rid of meetings is to not have so many people. There’s no other better way to do that (emphasis mine).”

Um…it might be a mistake to read this too literally, but this is a really stupid thing to say. People do incur coordination costs, but just to be clear, there are lots of ways to get rid of meetings, no matter how many people you do or don’t have, and you should absolutely be investing in some of them in an ongoing way. For example,

  • Develop a rich written culture and rituals around async work
  • Make recordings available, use AI transcription and summaries, or take notes and send them around
  • Use calendar plugins to visualize where your time is going, or even automatically reschedule meetings to compact your calendar and create blocks of focus time (e.g. Clockwise)
  • Declare calendar bankruptcy for meetings with >3 people every quarter, like Spotify does
  • Use ‘optional’ invites to be clear whether you’re inviting someone because you need them there vs for awareness purposes, or because you think they might be interested
  • Simply remind people that they own their calendar, and it’s okay to decline!

Synchronous meetings are one of many, many ways to coordinate between people and groups. There are others. Explore and experiment.

Maybe don’t call your employees “C players”, “incapable people” or “non world class”

“So you end up with this situation where non world class people, you know the old saying ‘A players hire A players, B players hire C players’, I would like to amend it. B players hire LOTS of C players, not just a few but a lot, because those are the kind of people that like building empires. If you can’t capably do your job, you don’t hire people better than you, and a person less capable than you can’t do the job. 

So you need three incapable people because one incapable person can’t actually do all the work. But now three incapable people are just going in three different directions, creating all these meetings and all this administrative tax.”

Deep breaths.

Ok. My goal for this piece is NOT to spend the whole time complaining about Brian Chesky and his lack of accountability, empathy, or respect (or as a friend of mine put it: “I am prepared to argue that he has no theory of mind for any actor at the company that is not the CEO. The search for the deep truth can stop, Brian doesn’t actually know what people are.”)

I want to invest my own limited time and energy into plucking out the bits of advice he gives that are solid, practical, and actionable, so I can contextualize and expound upon them. 

With that in mind, let’s skip right past the insults and acknowledge the fact that there are real challenges here. It’s extremely difficult to evaluate people who are more skilled than you are in the interview process, and harder still to evaluate those who are skilled in a different domain. Developing these muscles as an organization, figuring out what excellence looks like for each level in each role, maintaining a high bar of quality and employee-role fit…these are investments, and they take time and attention.

Constraints fuel creativity. Constraints also fuel efficiency. One of the biggest pathologies of hypergrowth is that when money is free, and everybody is telling you to go go go, grow grow grow! discipline tends to fly out the window. These things are hard to do well even under the best of circumstances; when everyone’s being given unlimited budgets and told to hire their way out of their backlog, well, can you blame them for doing exactly as they’ve been told?

Pretty shitty to retroactively decide they were all losers, if you ask me.

Great leadership is presence, not absence

“Founder mode at its core, though, is about the single principle to be in the details. Great leadership is presence, not absence. So to go back to my lesson, it is not good for you to hire great people and trust them to do their job. How do you know if they’re doing a good job if you’re not in the details?

You should start in the details. And no one does this (emphasis mine). Everyone hires executives and they let them do their thing, and then they find out a year later, the whole thing has been wrong. They’ve hired people they shouldn’t have hired. Now you got to get in the details. And of course, now their confidence goes down. They always inevitably leave the company. And you should actually start in the details, develop trust, develop muscle memory and then let go. So great leadership is presence not absence.”

A-fucking-men.

…Except for the one small fact that Chesky keeps repeating, “no one does this”. My dude, everyone does this. Nobody just hires an executive and sets them loose and doesn’t look over their shoulder for a year. What the flying fuck? That is lunacy. I love that you are discovering basic leadership principles and it is just fucking flooring you, but have you ever cracked a book about management, or talked to another leader? Ever?

Christine and I learned a long time ago not to tell our execs, “I’m not going to tell you how to run your org.” The goal is to do the work to be in alignment so that you don’t have to tell someone how to run their org, because you have a shared idea of what “great” looks like — and what “good enough” looks like — and you can catch deviations early, while they’re easy enough to fix.

Great leadership is presence, not absence; agreed, absolutely. But what does that mean exactly? Fortunately, he’s about to tell us.

“I review every single thing in the company. If I don’t review it, it doesn’t ship.”

“There was this paradox of CEO involvement. The less involved I got in a project, the more dysfunctional it got; the more dysfunctional it got, the more people assumed the dysfunction came from leadership…And then it would get so screwed up, then I would get involved. So what I ended up doing, I took a playbook of Steve Jobs, Elon Musk does this, Jensen Huang does this, Walt Disney does this, all of them do this. (emphasis mine) 

If the CEO is the chief product officer in the company, then you should review all of the work. So I review every single thing in the company. If I don’t review it, it doesn’t ship. I review everything on a cadence…If you’re not actually good at product, you don’t have good judgment and you’re not a super skilled product leader, then maybe you shouldn’t be CEO of the company, I don’t know. So let’s assume you’re actually good at what you do, then I think you should review all the work.”

Whuf.

Let’s back up a second. Brian Chesky has led Airbnb on an incredible journey over the past 17 years — from idea to startup to bloated, sprawling post-unicorn behemoth; through a near-death experience, restructuring and IPO; and emerged on the other side of it all as a public company with a share price of $130. He didn’t do this alone (I really loathe the trope where we treat companies like the extension and embodiment of one man’s will to power), but this also doesn’t happen by accident or happenstance.

He deserves credit for this. It’s more than I’ve done! Who cares what I have to say about any of this, really? I don’t have the same degree of believability as Brian Chesky when it comes to how to build a resilient, enduring, high-quality product company.

So let’s listen to someone who does have believability. Here’s what Reed Hastings says in “No Rules Rules: Netflix and the Culture of Reinvention” (share price: $921):

“There’s a whole mythology about CEOs and other senior leaders who are so involved in the details of the business that their product or service becomes amazing. The legend of Steve Jobs was that his micromanagement made the iPhone a great product…Of course, at most companies, even at those who have leaders who don’t micromanage, employees seek to make the decision the boss is most likely to support.

We don’t emulate those top-down models, because we believe we are fastest and most innovative when employees throughout the company make and own decisions. At Netflix, we strive to develop good decision-making muscles everywhere in our company — and we pride ourselves on how few decisions senior management makes (emphasis mine).”

His co-author, Erin Meyer, chimes in:

“People desire and thrive on jobs that give them control over their own decisions. Since the 1980s, management literature has been filled with instructions for how to delegate more and ‘empower employees to empower themselves’…The more people are given control over their own projects, the more ownership they feel, and the more motivated they are to do their best work.”

OMG, confusing!! Evidently ALL of them do NOT do it. What even IS the moral of the story here?! Well…it’s not a simple one, unfortunately. It turns out that you can’t just copy what Brian Chesky did at Airbnb, or what Reed Hastings did at Netflix, and paste it into your company and expect the same results. Bummer!

There are many paths up the mountain

This is an architecture problem. The Chesky/Airbnb architecture is like a monolith application, or a single-threaded process. Everything goes through the CEO, and that’s how they maintain quality. The Hastings/Netflix architecture is more like a microservices application or a threaded, highly concurrent process.

Either can work. Both have tradeoffs and implications. If you try to import either philosophy wholesale, it will break in unexpected ways; if you try to mix and match, it will probably be an unfettered nightmare.

Your architecture will only work if it solves for your problems, utilizing your resources, values, and contingencies. It needs to be authentic, consistent, and internally coherent. This doesn’t mean you can’t learn anything from either of these companies. You can — I have! But you should probably treat them like reference architectures — just-so stories about how individual cultures have successfully evolved in response to their unique challenges and threats, not recipe books.

And I can tell you right away that as an employee, one of these models looks a whole hell of a lot more appealing than the other.

But wait — it gets worse. 😅

Should the CEO interview every candidate?

“I interviewed the first 400 people and I wish I interviewed longer. Maybe my biggest regret is not interviewing the first thousand. I think you should interview every candidate until the recruiting team stages an intervention. Once they stage an intervention, you should interview for two more years after that until everyone threatens to resign…and then you should step away.”

Well. If this is the kind of company you’re choosing to build, then I suppose you may as well be consistent.

Can you be calibrated as an interviewer on every single opening, for every role? My God, no, not even close. 

The thing is…I have talked to so many people who work at companies where the CEO insists on interviewing every candidate. It seems to be a trend that is gaining steam rather than losing steam, much to everyone’s misfortune.

Which means that I have personally heard so many anguished stories from angry, frustrated engineering managers who have had their decisions overturned by arrogant CEOs who lacked the skills to evaluate their candidate’s experience, who were biased in blatant and embarrassing ways, who were so fucking overconfident in their own judgment that their teams are constantly having to compensate and apologize and mop up after them.

Want an example? Sure. I recently heard from a director at a 500-person company who spent six months cultivating and recruiting an exceptional hire with an unusual skill set. The candidate made it through their interview loop with flying colors, only for the CEO to reject them because they had recently had a child and were forthright about the fact that work/life balance was a meaningful consideration for them at this point in time. (The director did their best to do damage control, but even though the CEO ultimately relented, the candidate was no longer willing to leave their job. Can you blame them?!?)

It keeps getting worse! Here comes the low point.

“If they would come work for you, they’re not good enough. They’re only good enough if they come to work for me.”

“Can I give you an example of what I do today that no one else, not no one but maybe 95% of public company CEOs don’t do. I have an executive team, right?…I have like seven execs and 40 or 50 VPs. All the directs to my directs dual report to me. I am the co-hiring manager of all the directs to my directs and so we meet and I often tell my directs, ‘I don’t want somebody that you could hire without me. If they would come to work for you, they’re not good enough. They’re only good enough if they come to work for me. So if you can hire them without my help, they’re not good enough.’”

I just about lost my shit over this. Do you hear yourself, bud? 

The irony is…I am actually the world’s hugest proponent of skip level 1x1s. I have two or three half-written blog posts in my drafts folder preaching the value of skip levels. I’ve written MULTIPLE twitter threads over the years, talking about how important it is to build relationships with your manager’s managers and your direct reports’ direct reports. 

I’ve said that I think skip levels are like end-to-end health checks. It’s important to open a line of communication and explicitly invite critical feedback and bad news. It’s a way to verify that managers are doing a good job managing their teams. It’s how you help iron out telephone games and ensure packets are being transmitted and received up and down the org chart. They are such a critical contribution to organizational health and clear communications, and not enough places invest in them.

I’m also a big proponent of promoting from within, of hiring ambitious people — all of it. 

But this attitude towards hierarchy that locates the CEO at the center of every universe, and ranks people in importance according to their proximity…it’s just gross. It’s an attitude that’s contagious; it spreads, like syphilis. And I do not think it unlocks intrinsic motivation or excellence in most humans. It mostly incentivizes a bunch of maladaptive behaviors like sucking up to the CEO.

UGH. Okay, this is getting really long. I’m going to jump rapid-fire through a few final nuggets.

Executive hiring fails when you hire someone at the wrong stage

“Probably the number one reason executive hiring fails is because you hire somebody at the wrong stage. And they were managing instead of building, and you didn’t know that. And so you brought in a manager who is an expert or not so expert, but comfortable in a highly political bureaucracy. And now they have to do things themselves and they can’t. They also have the wrong stage instinct, right? Maybe a CMO used to run $500 million marketing budgets. Now they have a $50 million or $5 million budget, and they don’t know what to do and they can’t do anything themselves.”

Yes, execs can fail because they are managing instead of building, but they can ALSO fail because they are building instead of managing. I’ve worked with execs who operated like they were effectively the most senior IC in the room, and they had…extreme limitations as leaders, let’s put it that way.

Overall, this is a solid point. Being a CMO that takes a company from $1-10m or $10-$50m is a very, very different skill set than taking a company from $50 to $250m, or through an IPO.

We look for executives who can both scale up and scale down. Scale up: you can speak credibly to the board, at the right level of abstraction vs detail, you can craft strategy, see around corners etc. Scale down: you know what “good” looks like for work all over your organization, you can get down in the weeds to help coach a struggling IC back to victory, you can debug a flailing campaign or workflow. Both matter.

References are critical for building confidence in your hires

“I actually prioritize references over interviewing…Andreeson Horowitz would tell me, you should do 8 hours of reference checks per employee.”

Agreed. I’ve said many times that if I had to choose between interviews or references, I would pick references every time. (Fortunately, you don’t have to pick!)

“Ask them who the best people are. Say, ‘okay, separate from this topic, I just want to know who’s the best person you’ve ever worked with.’ Do they say the person’s name you just talked about?”

This trick doesn’t fool anybody.

“Then you ask questions like, okay, what do I need to watch out for? If I were to hire them? What is the one area of development you would give them?”

This is good advice. You should always probe into people’s weaknesses and areas of development. Everyone has them, there’s no shame in that. Hearing details about where they are weak can give you confidence, and set you up better to support them. It gives you richer insight into them as a person and coworker.

A basket of interviewing tips and tricks

“Interviewing. My first tip is you ask follow up questions. You ask them how to explain how they did something. And the key is to ask two followups. You never want to get the first answer, you always want the third answer.”

Asking follow-up questions is a classic technique, and a good one. But don’t let them dominate the conversation with a narrative. You want to be intentional about pulling on specific threads and making sure they answer what you asked, not pull a politician’s move and give the answer they feel like answering. Does the answer sound canned, or are they thinking on their feet?

“Often there’s too many people interviewing for too short a time, not going deep enough. Your interview panel should be as few people as possible, going as deep as possible…3 or 4 people going really deep is better than 8 or 10 people giving you their first impression…and they’re actually mostly thinking about what this means for them.”

Yeah, so this is an area where my thinking has actually changed a lot over the years. I used to cast a much wider net, like I felt like people ought to get to interview anyone who was being hired over them. I’ve come to realize that having too many veto points in the system is dangerous and doesn’t actually add more value. Yes, people like being offered the opportunity to affirmatively vet someone, but at a certain point you have to prioritize the candidate experience — and trust your team to make good choices.

It’s usually better to have a fewer number of interviewers, but make sure they are all well calibrated for the role, and that there’s a certain amount of coordination between interviewers so everyone is covering different questions/aspects of the role. If you have 8 or 10 interviewers, that is way, way too many.

“Every potential hire is guilty until proven innocent. It is the opposite of our justice system. Most people, when they interview, they look for the absence of weaknesses and that is innocence. The presumption is someone’s good. You should always presume somebody is not good. You need proof. They don’t work for you. So you need evidence to hire them, not evidence to eliminate them as a candidate and almost every company gets this wrong. And what they end up doing is hiring mediocre people with an absence of weaknesses, not people that have a preponderance of evidence of being really good and spike in a few areas.”

Again, there is a solid principle buried deep under all this repugnant bullshit about “mediocre people” and “guilty until proven innocent”. Here’s how I would put it: you want to hire people for their unique strengths, not their lack of weaknesses. If they’re strong where you need them to be strong, it’s okay if they aren’t equally superpowered at everything — that’s why we build teams, to supplement and balance each other out.

In the Honeycomb interview process, we emphasize that we want to see you at your best — please help us do that! If you don’t feel like we’ve seen your strengths, please tell us, so we can fix it. 

See, how hard was that? Same point, zero jackassery.

There is no such thing as the ‘best people’

Another way to look at it is the quality of the people. People never hire people better than them. So there might be people that are good at their job, but it’s not enough to be good at your job in most large companies. If you are the best in the world at your job, but you can’t hire really great people, then you’re not going to be the best in the world because your team isn’t really good. 

God, he does this over and over again, talking about people like they exist on some index you can stack rank or something.

Here’s one small mental hack that makes a world of difference: remember that you are trying to hire the right people to join your team/org/company.

Not the “best” people. 

The right people.

The fact that someone isn’t a superstar employee for this company, this product, this team, at this stage, doesn’t mean they might not be a superstar employee for someone else. And people who aren’t “superstar employees” are still worthy of your respect. Not wanting to work your ass off is a perfectly legitimate life choice and does not make them a lower quality human. Maybe they aren’t the right hire for you, but you don’t have to treat them — or talk about them — like shit.

People who work for big, stable companies, are not necessarily bad at their job or incapable of building things. They have a different skill set, they may work at a different tempo, but this doesn’t mean they suck. My god. So fucking condescending.

There’s such a special kind of hubris in these startup kids who are losing tens of millions of dollars a year and looking down their noses at their peers in organizations that are making tens of millions of dollars a year, believing themselves to be categorically better than them just because they can…prototype real fast? Unclear.

Building a world-class team is about more than just hiring

I wrote a piece a few years ago called “The Real 11 Reasons I Don’t Hire You”, where I discussed a few of the many variables that go into deciding who to hire. It’s complicated — it is irreducibly complicated. And it should be.

But it’s also just the beginning. The team, the culture, the sociotechnical systems you hire them into are going to exert a gravitational pull over all of the people you hire. Are you bringing them into an environment that is generative, playful, creative, experimental, intense, competitive, demoralizing, controlling, grinding, aspirational, compliant, hierarchical, passive-aggressive, or aggressive-aggressive? Are standards applied consistently? What behaviors get rewarded or punished, actively or otherwise? Who gets mentored and fast tracked to the top? Who gets the most facetime with the CEO? Is CEO facetime a prized currency? Why? Systems drive behavior.

Sociologists have a term for the cognitive bias that causes us to predictably, consistently over-emphasize individual agency and attributes and underestimate situational factors: the FAE, or Fundamental Attribution Error. This whole interview is sopping with FAE energy.

It’s not as simple as “just hire great people”. You want to hire people who share your values, want to do the job, have the right skills, are motivated, etc, and then the conditions you create for them to work under will either cause them to flourish and feed their creativity and drive, or will crush them and shut them down. The feedback loop runs both ways.

Hypergrowth is hazardous to your company’s health

“In a hypergrowth company, it could even be 50% of your time is hiring.”

Chesky mentions hypergrowth only once and briefly, towards the end, but it’s a vital piece of context if you want to understand the Airbnb story.

As he says, Airbnb was one of the O.G. unicorns — a unicorn before they coined the term ‘unicorn’. It was born in the era of hypergrowth and free money. That’s the only way to make any sense of the fact that a company could pay such comically little attention to efficiency, for so long. (Thirteen years, to be exact.)

When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. In hypergrowth mode, you solve every problem by throwing more resources at the system. The tools you learn are weird ones, which map awkwardly to the skills you need to run a normal, sustainable company that’s expected to turn a profit. Hypergrowth encourages a raft of bad habits, and attacking every problem by hiring more people is one of them.

This is not good for anyone, except perhaps venture capitalists. The externalities are dreadful. It’s impossible to scale your culture, your practices, your values, or people’s expectations at an equivalent pace. The correction is brutal, when the time finally comes to worry about efficiency — and eventually, everybody needs to worry about efficiency. The higher the ride, the harder the fall. The bill comes due.

The CEO-centric view of the universe

One of my least favorite things about YC is the way it seems to pursue extremely young and inexperienced founders. If you’ve never been a manager, director, VP, staff or principal engineer, it’s a lot easier to look down on those people and disrespect the role they play in the ecosystem.

It looks like Brian Chesky was about 26 years old when he cofounded Airbnb. He has basically been a CEO for his entire career. And this is, I think, a great example of the kind of blinkered perspective you get from someone who has no real idea what it’s like to sit anywhere else on the org chart.

After watching the first 40 minutes of this talk, one might reasonably wonder if Brian Chesky understands that being CEO of a company means being accountable for its outcomes.

What makes all of this extra frustrating is that in the final five minutes, he shows us that he does know this…at least when it comes to board interactions.

“Oftentimes if you take advice from a VC and it doesn’t work and you don’t have traction…You’re still held responsible. So the only thing that matters is you’re successful, not if you listen to them or not. People sometimes forget and they’re like, well, you shouldn’t have listened to me. They don’t say it that way, but that’s kind of the way it happens. So I would just know that, like, you own the outcome no matter what.”

Yeah, bro. You do.

 

“Founder Mode” and the Art of Mythmaking

How Hard Should Your Employer Work To Retain You?

Recently we learned that Google spent $2.7 billion to re-hire a single AI researcher who had left to start his own company. As Charlie Brown would say: “Good grief.” 🙄

This is an (incredibly!) extreme example. But back in the halcyon days of the zero interest rate phenomenon (ZIRP), smaller versions of this tale played out daily. Many rank-and-file engineers have stories about submitting their resignation, or threatening to quit, and their managers plying them with stock or cash or promotions to stay. This happened so much that it started to seem like the normal thing to do when you wanted a raise or a promotion. Job hopping for better comp also happened, but people quickly figured out that by merely threatening to leave, you could often get the loot without the hassle of having to actually switch jobs.

Many of these stories have been embellished dramatically over time, as real anecdotes fade into legends of the “my friend knows a person who” or “I read it on Blind” varieties, but the lore is based in reality. It really did happen. The legacy of these episodes is…not great.

To be clear, I do not begrudge employees trying to maximize their wages and comp by changing jobs. It’s the gamification and brinksmanship I object to, and all the ways it ends up distorting company culture and values and outcomes. In the overheated ZIRP environment, lots of companies felt like this is what they were forced to do to compete for talent. Maybe so, maybe not. But money is not the only thing people value, which means that this is not the only way to compete for talent.

After all, the hot air of the inflationary ZIRP bidding wars is what led to the post-ZIRP job market collapse. The boom and bust cycle is stressful and counterproductive, which leads to uneven, disastrously unfair outcomes and an oppositional, extractive mindset on both sides. We can do better. We must do better. Let’s talk about how.

You should stay at your job as long as it fulfills your career priorities

How long should you stay at your job? As long as it’s the best thing you can do for your career, or at least a reasonable, smart career choice, in alignment with your own personal career goals and life priorities.

Maybe this sounds mind-numbingly obvious to you. But far too many people stay far too long at jobs where they aren’t happy, aren’t growing, and aren’t setting their future selves up for success. Hey, I’ve been there…these decisions can be brutal. 💔

Your career is an appreciating, multimillion dollar asset, probably the largest single asset you will ever own. How you define what is best or right for you will inevitably shift over the course of your 40-year career, and that’s fine. This is normal.

But you have to make these decisions based on what is right for you, your career, and your family. Not because, say, you feel responsible for protecting your team from upper management, or you’re afraid of what will happen to the product or the team if you leave, or you feel like you owe them something. Nor should you stay out of fear, whether that be fear of interviews, that this is the best you can do, etc.

Sometimes your top priority might be making the most money, so you can get out of debt. Sometimes it might be a simple, uncomplicated paycheck and low expectations so you can spend a lot of time with your family. Sometimes you may be on a hot streak and raring to go, working like crazy and making a name for yourself in the industry. When in doubt, my advice is to 1) preserve optionality, 2) follow good people and 3) lean into that which energizes you.

The company should employ you as long as it’s a good fit

There are certainly companies where people get fired too quickly or in bad faith. There are also companies where people who are not working out linger on and on and on in the role. It might be tempting to conceive of the latter situation as more worker-friendly, but in all honesty, neither situation is great.

If the wants and needs of the company and the employee are not aligned, you aren’t doing them any favors by dragging it out or keeping them around in a prolonged state of purgatory. If things are decidedly not working out, I promise, they are miserable.

If you are a manager, your number one job is to bring clarity. What are the expectations for the role, what does success look like, what support does the employee need in getting there? When things aren’t going well, your job is to work with them to figure out what is happening, and come up with a plan. Is there a shared understanding of what success looks like in this role? Is it a skills gap, are there relationships that need mending, do they need some time off to deal with personal issues? Are they still interested in the work? Is it still a good fit?

There is an extremely short list of jobs that can only be done by managers, and managing people out (which does sometimes mean firing them, but not always), is at the tippy top of that list. Making sure the right people are on the team is job number one. Figuring this shit out swiftly — we’re talking months, not years — is critical.

Also, none of this happens magically or automatically. This shit is hard. Which is why it is important to invest in these skills and set expectations for your managers.

Your manager should try to make this a great career opportunity for you, for as long as possible

It’s the job of your manager to ensure that this role is a great opportunity for you, for as long as possible. For mid-level engineers this means making sure you are learning and expanding your skill sets, that you have access to mentorship and support systems, that you get to follow your curiosity to some extent and work on things that interest you. For more senior folks, this might mean looking out for opportunities to lead projects or wear new hats.

But that won’t be forever, for anyone — not even your CEO or founders! And that’s okay. This is not a family, it’s a company, and hopefully something of a community.

Sometimes you get an opportunity you can’t refuse. Or life takes you in a different direction. It happens! It is not a tragedy when people leave for a better opportunity or something that excites them.

Real-life example: Paul Osman left Honeycomb because he and his family were moving to NYC and needed a Big Tech salary. He was a wonderful staff engineer (at a time when those were scarce), a high performer, effective across the org, beloved by all; he was even on our board of directors, our first elected employee board member! But when he let us know he was going to leave, we … wished him well. We couldn’t match the salary he needed to pull down; he knew that, we knew that. Nor would it have been fair to all the other staff engineers if we had tried.

Managers need to be actively engaging in career development and planning with their reports. The more you know about someone’s personal values and priorities, the better you can do to try and set them up with opportunities that appeal to them and the trajectory they are on.

Your manager should also be honest if you could find better opportunities elsewhere

I also believe that good managers will be honest with their employees when they feel like this may no longer be the best place for them. Not every opportunity exists at every company, at every time.

It can be hard to admit to your star employee that if you were them, you’d be looking elsewhere for opportunities. Maybe you have an incredible, ambitious senior engineering director who is hungry and chafing to move up, but you don’t expect to see any openings at the VP level over the next year or two. They deserve to know that, I think.

To be clear, you are NOT firing them. Usually, you are holding your breath and praying they will choose to stay. Often they do! Maybe they love their job enough that they’re happy to stick around for another couple years just to see if any openings do arise, or they switch into passive job search mode, taking interesting calls but not actively looking. Maybe you have a conversation about ways they could build their career in other ways, by doing more writing and speaking. Maybe they decide this is a good window of time to have another kid.

But if you can’t honestly look them in the eye and tell them this is the best place for them, given what you know of their ambitions and priorities, you have to say so. It’s on them to decide what to do with that information. But if you want them to trust you when you say this is a great opportunity for their career, you have to be truthful when the opportunity is just not there.

Some amount of employee turnover is natural and healthy

When I worked at Linden Lab in my early twenties, I remember vividly how much pride we took in the fact that people never left. I was there for 4.5 years, and I think we had a single-digit number of departures that entire time. I remember thinking to myself how incredibly special this company must be, because nobody ever wants to leave.

It was a special company. ❤️ But when I look back now, this part makes me cringe. Yep, nobody ever left. No one was ever managed out, even the people who never seemed to do anything but hang out in Second Life or work on whatever the fuck they personally felt like doing. It was a little bit … culty? There were some incredible engineers there, but also a systematic inability to row in the same direction or make a plan and execute on it. In some ways Linden felt more like a social club than a business.

I loved working there, don’t get me wrong, and I learned a lot. But in retrospect, some amount of turnover is good. It’s healthy. It means you have standards for yourselves, and someone is paying attention to whether or not we’re actually making progress and getting shit done, or whether or not the people we need are in the right seats.

Tenure functions somewhat differently at very large companies; it may take years for someone just to come up to speed and learn how to operate within the system, so they do their best to retain people for decades. When you’re a startup in growth mode, though, you become a completely different organism every few years. People who are happy as clams and supremely productive from $0-$1m or 1-50 people may or may not adjust well to the $50m or $200m environment. People who are superstars on one side of the Dunbar number are sometimes bitterly unhappy on the other side.

There’s “regrettable” and “non-regrettable” attritions, but the company should be able to go on operating even in the face of “regrettable” departures.

There are, of course, exceptions. So let’s talk about these.

Sometimes people sit in critical roles at critical moments

At any given time, there exists a subset of people who are disproportionately critical to the success of the business at the moment, people whose departure could seriously jeopardize the company’s ability to meet its goals this quarter or even this year. It sucks, but it’s a reality. This happens.

If that’s a very long list of people, however, or if it’s the same people over and over, or if the actual survival of the company would be in jeopardy and not just a subset of your goals, then your leaders are not doing their fucking job.

Part of the job of running a company is developing talent to be successors to key people. Part of their job is to replicate and distribute critical company knowledge and skills. None of us should be irreplaceable — not even the CEO, or CTO, or founders. If the company’s future depends irrevocably on the continued employment of any individual person, the company’s leaders are fucking up, full stop.

There are two types of disproportionally critical employees: superstars and SPOFs

The right time to determine who is on that critical subset is NOT when one of them resigns. You should be asking yourselves somewhat regularly — which people are our superstars, the ones we really, really want to make sure are happy and fulfilled here, and which people are single points of failure, the ones we cannot easily replace, or function in their absence?

Note that these are not necessarily the same two lists!

This doesn’t have to be a heavyweight process, but if you are large enough to have a People team or HR team, they should be ensuring that talent reviews and succession planning conversations are happening like clockwork, once per quarter or so.

Your superstars are the people who are standout performers, carrying a ton of load for the company or generating uniquely creative ideas, etc. You should identify these people proactively and make sure they are feeling challenged, supported and valued. What are their values — what lights their fire? Where are they trying to go in their career, in their life? How do they like to receive recognition? How does it manifest when they feel overwhelmed or demotivated?

Managers tend to devote most of their attention to their lowest performers. Be wary of this. Yes, give people the support they need. But the biggest bang for your buck is typically the time you spend on your highest performers. Don’t neglect your superstars just because they are doing well.

Get to know your superstars, and compensate them

And compensate your superstars. Whatever pool of money is set aside for high performers at your company, make sure they get a slice of it — a raise, a bonus, direct equity, etc.

But money isn’t the full story, it’s just the first chapter. This is where you need to dig a little deeper and get to know them better — their values, their love languages, how they like to receive recognition. Make sure other company leaders know who is kicking ass and what kind of opportunities they’d be into.

Being a superstar should earn you more than money — it earns the right to experiment, try a moonshot, be first in line for a lateral role change into another area of interest. Maybe you can line them up with a work coach or continuing education, support them writing or presenting their work at conferences…the list is endless What do they value? Find out.

It is normal and desirable for your shortlist of superstars to shift over time. If it’s always the same few names on the list, that may reflect a different problem: that you are handing out all of the opportunities to take risks and shine brightly to the same few people, over and over again. It’s your job to cultivate a deep bench of talent, not one or two lead singers with everyone else in the chorus.

Work on a plan to de-risk your SPOFs

And then there are your single points of failure, people who are the only person who knows how to do something, or the only person in a function. In the early days of any startup, you have a ton of these. As you grow, you should steadily pay down this list.

If superstars are the people you want to keep out of joy, SPOFs can be the people you need to keep out of fear. You can’t function without them, even if they’re mediocre contributors. This is bad on several levels.

This is just a risk analysis you need to work through as a leadership team. Have a plan, have a backup options, and steer a path out of this state as soon as you can afford to.

I’m not naive. The realities of business are real, and sometimes something takes you by surprise, or you need to try and do a diving save for someone who has just announced they are leaving. But that should not be common. The normal, expected reaction when someone tells you they are leaving should be, “ah, that’s too bad, we’ll miss you! I’m so happy for you and this new opportunity you’re excited about!”

Most jobs will be saved or lost by boring organizational labor, not heroic diving saves.

Here is one important reality that many employees don’t seem to grasp:

The harder your employer is affirmatively working to do right by you, the fewer heroics they will be willing or able to do to retain you. And the harder the company is working to be fair and equitable, the less they will be willing or able to make exceptions to their existing compensation framework.

Here is one good end-to-end test of the system: you should not be able to get a higher salary or a larger stock grant by quitting and getting immediately re-hired. If you can, your company is not doing the work to value the labor of its existing employees by the same yardstick as it values new hires.

A lot of companies fail this test! Because in order for this to be true, your company needs to consistently adhere to pay bands, pegged to market rates, adjusted and reconciled each year. They need to do something like boxcar stock grants. They need to periodically audit their own levels and comp and look for evidence of systematic bias. They REALLY need to not make exceptions to their own god damn rules.

As Emily Nakashima says, “Many companies hemorrhage great employees in underrepresented groups because they do all those things but they fail to bring a DEI lens to them — ‘we have salary bands! we have a fair comp system! we think about ladders and promo paths!’ and then they do zero work to make sure those things are applied equitably to all their employees, including across axes of diversity like race and gender.”

All of these things take organizational willpower, and they are hard. It means a lot of hard conversations. It means saying “no” to people. It’s much easier to give out goodies to the people who complain the loudest or threaten to quit, at least in the short term.

It’s easy to talk about fairness and equity, but it takes a lot of structural labor to walk the walk

A lot of work goes into building and maintaining a system that can pass the sniff test in terms of compensating people fairly and equitably, instead of based on their negotiating skills or how much they made at their previous job.

You need to have a job ladder and levels you believe in, ones that accurately reflect the skills, behaviors and values of your org and have broad buy-in from the team. You need a process for leveling people as new hires and at review time, and for appealing those levels when you get it wrong. You should have salary bands for each level, with compa ratios based on market rates. You should be able to show your work and explain your decisions. (For example, we target the 65th% for companies of our size and funding levels, and we pay everyone SF market rates, no matter where they are located in the world.)

This is why review-time calibrations are so important. Calibrations are not about calibrating ICs, they are about calibrating managers. Calibrations are to diminish the inequity that results when one manager has a different understanding of the level an engineer is operating at, so the engineer would receive a different level, band, or rating under a different manager.

Obviously, all of these sociotechnical systems are made and operated by human beings, so there will always be some intrinsic messiness and imprecision. This is why it matters that managers show up with humility and work to get aligned with their peers on what truly matters to the company and the org. This is why it is so important that we show our work and engage with ladders and levels as living documents.

A lot of this labor is invisible to employees, and not especially well understood. I think a critical part of making these systems work is helping employees understand the tradeoffs being made, and how having a consistent leveling system ultimately benefits them, even if they are personally frustrated about not getting promoted this half. Which means every manager needs to be equipped to have these hard conversations with their team.

It should be okay to tell your manager you’re thinking about leaving, and talk about your options

HR teams will typically bucket departures into voluntary and involuntary, aka “regrettable” and “nonregrettable”. In reality, almost any time someone leaves their job, it’s some muddled combination of the two.

In the optimal case, voluntary departures are rarely a complete surprise. Surprises suck. They’re hard to plan around, they often leave gaps in coverage or contributions, and they’re a bummer for morale. You should be able to be honest with your manager and tell them if you’re starting to look around, or if you’re finding yourself less happy and motivated these days. However, this requires a lot of trust in the relationship — that the manager won’t retaliate, won’t fire you, etc — and from what I gather, it seems to be fairly uncommon in the wild. 🙁

Employees do not owe their manager a heads up or a conversation in advance, but this is unequivocally the level of relationship trust we should aim for.

Steph Hippo says, “I love being the manager people want to work for, and it took me a while to figure out how to also be the kind of manager people wanted to have ‘fire’ them by helping them move on. I’m really proud of how many people I’ve been able to help move off my team because we found a better fit. Doing this contributes to your reputation as a leader and as an employer. I found it meaningful if someone that moved on from my team did so on good terms, came back to visit, or sent other people to check out our job listings. That’s a sign that you’re parting with folks on good terms.” 💯

Managers can prove themselves worthy of this trust by not reacting, not retaliating, not treating people any differently, not leaping to conclusions, not running ahead and making decisions or commitments ahead of what the employee has stated.

Should you ever try to change someone’s mind about leaving?

Not never…but rarely. You should always try to understand why someone is leaving. Exit interviews are a great tool here, especially in situations where there has been relationship friction. Departures are a trailing indicator, but often a very powerful signal of things managers should be paying attention to, to make things better for those who remain.

If someone has decided to leave, you’re not going to “save” them via bribery alone. I’ve never seen the tactic of throwing money and titles at someone actually get them to stick around in the long run.

However, I have seen departure announcements get turned around when they include some form of development — when you can identify real underlying sources of discontent, and meet them with action.

Another real life example: A couple years ago, Phillip Carter told us he had decided to leave and take another role in the industry. We had some intense conversations about why that was and what was missing, and realized he had been struggling to connect with the reasons behind what we were building, largely because he had never written or supported code in production during his time as a software engineer. He decided not to leave after that, and he is here to this day.

There will be times when someone has decided to leave, and you want to fight for them to stay. In those situations, you need to get really crystal clear with yourself before taking action. What are the underlying risks to the business, and how far are you prepared to go?

On extremely rare occasions, heroic measures may be the lesser of two evils

Sometimes you may have to try for a diving save. That’s just the reality of doing business, esp at startup stages where you have less redundancy, a shorter planning horizon, more overall chaos and a smaller overall operating budget.

Sometimes your goals are at risk, and you feel like you don’t have a choice. But any time you find yourself bargaining or trying to bribe people to stay after they’ve decided to leave, you should take a hard fucking look at yourself and how you got there, and whether or not you can justify your actions.

Exceptions are often the path of least resistance for the manager making the exception in the moment, but they impose a heavy, compounding cost to the business over time. Any time you make an exception to keep someone, you risk breaking your commitments to everyone else. And rumors about exceptions being made will fly fast and furious (sometimes it seems like there is a 10-20x multiplier of rumors to reality). 😣

I will not sit here and tell you no exceptions can be ever made. Systems made of people are systems that are never perfect. Once in a while, making an exception might actually the way to restore justice to a situation. Other times your ass is well and truly backed into a corner. But exceptions are SO costly to your credibility, you must at least build peer review and consequences for exceptions into the system.

A few checks and balances to consider:

  • Individual managers should not be able to make an exception without the buy-in of their director, VP, and people team
  • It should generally trigger some kind of review of the system policy in question, to see if it still serves its purpose
  • You should be able to look in each other’s eyes and explain your reasoning, and not feel ashamed of it if word gets out

Shit does happen. But if this kind of shit happens on the regular, you can’t blame people for becoming extremely cynical about the way you do business, and you can expect to get way more people trying to game the system to get the same results for themselves.

People should not use threats of leaving to try and effect change or get raises. This should not be an effective tactic — and in order for it not to be an effective tactic, we cannot reward it with results. When you make exceptions, you all but guarantee more people will try this.

People work at jobs for money, but not only money

While writing this piece, a friend told me a story about when he became an engineering manager a decade ago, and soon noticed that his two women engineers were the lowest paid and the lowest leveled people on the team, which didn’t seem to correlate with their actual skills or experience. He asked his own manager what was up with this, and the response he received was: “Well yeah, neither of them has ever been a flight risk.”

This kind of attitude is, to put it politely, a fucking cancer on our industry.

There are two radically different philosophies when it comes to corporate compensation. In the first scenario, you pay people as little as possible, and consider it your job as a manager to extract the most work out of people for the least pay. Information is power, so information asymmetry is endemic in these environments, and people are paid according to their skill at negotiation or brinksmanship. You typically blow your wad trying to compete for the “best” talent in the world.

In the second scenario, you do your best to compensate employees fairly and competitively, balancing their needs and wants against other stakeholders and the overarching mandate for the company as a whole to succeed. You practice transparency and show your work, and actively work to counter systemic biases. You understand you can’t compete for every great hire out there, but you try to equip people with the information they need to evaluate whether or not you are mutually a good fit.

Companies that operate according to the first scenario are so alienating and toxic (and almost certainly illegal, in many cases) that few will openly claim to be this kind of company. Most companies at least pay lip service to equity and fairness. But because everyone is typically mouthing the same kind of things, employees will scrutinize your actions far more than your words, especially when it comes to comp.

At the end of the day, these are jobs. People work at jobs for money, but not only money. I think we would all be better off if we could get better at articulating the tangible and intangible rewards of our labor, treating each other with dignity and honesty, and being straightforward about our needs and wants and goals on both sides, instead of treating comp like some kind of high stakes casino game.

 

Huge thanks to Steph Hippo, Paul Osman, Phillip Carter, Lesley Cordero, Emily Nakashima for their feedback, critique, and stories.

How Hard Should Your Employer Work To Retain You?

Pragmatism, Neutrality and Leadership

Every year or so, some tech CEO does something massively stupid, like declaring “No politics at work!”, or “Trump voters are oppressed and live in fear!”, and we all get a good pained laugh over how out of touch and lacking in self-awareness they are.

We hear a lot about the howlers, and much less about the practical challenges leaders face in trying to create a work environment where people from vastly different backgrounds and belief systems come together in peace to focus on the mission and do good work. Or how that intersects with the deeply polarizing events that now seem to shatter our world every other week — invasions, Supreme Court rulings, elections, school shootings, and the like.

Are we supposed to speak up or stay silent? Share our own beliefs, or take a studiously neutral stance? What do we do if half of the company is numb and reeling with grief, and the other half is bursting with joy? Nothing at all? That feels inhumane. Is the reality that we live in a world where we can only live, work, and interact with people who already agree with us and our political beliefs? God, I hope not. 🙁

This has been on my mind a lot recently. We are 103 days out from a US Presidential election, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

So here goes.

Caveats, challenges and cautionary tales

There are some immediate challenges to things I’m trying to say here. A couple:

The term “politics”, much like the term “technical debt”, can mean way too many things. Local, regional or national electoral politics; activities associated with power distribution or resource allocation; influence peddling or status seeking behaviors, putting your needs above the good of the group, and so much more. Therefore I will use the term sparingly, and prefer more specific language where possible.

I don’t often do this, but I am explicitly addressing this piece to other founders and execs. Not because it doesn’t apply to people in other roles; it does. It just got really wordy trying to account for all the possible variations on role, scope and perspective involved.

As a leader, your job is to succeed

This might sound obvious, possibly to the point of idiocy. Yet I think it bears repeating. For all the mountains of forests of trees worth of books that get written every year on leadership, it remains the case that nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.

I think great leaders treat money like oxygen: they make sure there is plenty of it, and understand that if you’re talking about it all of the time you’re in deep shit and better take drastic actions to make sure you have enough.” ~ Mark Ferlatte

As a founder or leader of a venture-backed startup or public company, your #1 job is to make the business succeed. Success comes first. It’s Maslow’s hierarchy of needs all over again; you must ensure your company’s continued existence before you earn the right to tinker.

Success in business is what earns you the right to devote more time, attention, and resources to cultural issues, and to experiment with things that matter to you.

One of the most common ways that leaders fail is that they get so bogged down in the daily chaos of running the company, managing a team, raising money, responding to crises and scoring OKRs is that they struggle to keep the focus zeroed in on the most important thing: succeeding at your mission.

Know your mission, craft a strategy, execute

And how do you do that?

Know your mission, craft a strategy, and execute. It’s as simple and straightforward as it is unbelievably difficult and devastatingly complicated.

The system exists to fulfill the mission. I’ve written before about systems thinking in organizations, how hierarchy emerges to benefit the workers, how we look up for purpose and down for function.

Your mission is what brings people together to collectively build something that they could not do as individuals. The more crisp and well articulated your mission, the more employees can tie the work they do back to the mission, the more meaningful their daily work is likely to feel.

Your culture serves the business, not the other way around

A great culture can’t compensate for a weak product that users don’t want. If people want to work at your company more than they want to use your product, that’s a bad sign.

A company culture with tremendous energy, ownership and transparency can be an accelerant to your business, it can grant you unique advantages, and it can help mitigate risks. But it is not why you exist. Your mission is why you exist.

It would be nice to believe that having a warm, supportive culture, with friendly people and four day work weeks, could guarantee success, or at least give you a reliable advantage. Wouldn’t it?

Companies with shitty cultures win all the time

We’ve all watched companies become wildly successful under assholes, while waves of employees leave broken and burned out. I wish this wasn’t true, but it is. People’s lives and careers are just another externality as far as the corporate books are concerned.

Many live through this nightmare and emerge dead set on doing things differently. And so, when they become founders or leaders, they put culture ahead of the business. And then they lose.

Most companies fail, and if you aren’t hungry and zeroed in on the success of your business, your slim chances become even slimmer.

I don’t believe this has to be either/or, cultural success or business success. I think it’s a false dichotomy. I believe that healthy companies can be more successful than shitty ones, all else being equal. Which is why I believe that leaders who care about building a workplace culture rooted in dignity and respect have a responsibility to care even more about success in business. Let’s show these motherfuckers how it’s done. Nothing succeeds like success.

Good culture is rooted in organizational health

Six questions for organizational health, from “The Advantage” by Patrick Lencioni

I feel like a big reason so many leaders get twisted up here is by trying to make employees happy instead of driving organizational health. This is a huge topic, and I won’t go deep on it here, but my understanding of organizational health owes a lot to “The Advantage: Why Organizational Health Trumps Everything Else In Business”, by Patrick Lencioni, with honorable mention going to “ Good Strategy/Bad Strategy”, by Richard Rumelt.

A terrific company culture begins with organizational health: a competent, experienced leadership team that trusts each other, a mission, and a strategy, clarity and good communication. If everyone in the company knows what the most important thing is, and their actions align with that, your company is probably pretty healthy.

People’s feelings matter, and you should treat them with dignity and respect, but you can’t be driven by them. You have to let go of underperformers, deliver hard feedback, set high standards and hold people accountable. A lot of this does not feel good.

You will make mistakes. Things will fail. You will have to spin down teams, or entire orgs. People are going to have huge emotional reactions about your decisions and take things personally. They’ll be angry with you and disagree with your decisions. They will blame you, and maybe they should.

If you do your job well, with some luck, many people will be happy, much of the time. But if your goal is to make people happy, you will fail, and then everyone will be unhappy. Feelings are a trailing indicator and only roughly, occasionally a sign that you are doing a good job.

Survive in the short term, but live your values in the longer term

Most companies have seen times where all of the options seem like bad ones, even a betrayal of their values. There are times that hurt your conscience, or rouse up anger and cynicism in the ranks. Some hypothetical examples:

  • When you’re doing layoffs to save the company, and realize the list is disproportionately made up of marginalized groups 💔
  • When you have an all-male exec team, and desperately need a new engineering leader, but all of the qualified candidates in your pipeline are men
  • When you had to let someone go for cause, and they’re going around publicly lying about what happened but you can’t respond

These things happen. And when they do, you have a legal and ethical responsibility to make the decision that is right for the company, every time.

And yet.

You must remind yourself as you do, uneasily, queasily, how easily “I didn’t have a choice” can slip from reason to excuse. How quickly “this isn’t the right time” turns into “never the right time”. You know this, I know this, and I guarantee you every one of your employees knows this.

Don’t expect them to give you the benefit of the doubt. Why should they? They’ve heard this shit a million times. Don’t get mad, just do your job.

Living your values takes planning and sacrifice

No halfway decent leader spends ALL their time reacting to the burning bushes in front of their faces. Being a leader means planning for the future, so you can do better next time.

So you had to make a tough decision, and the optics (and maybe the reality) of it are terrible. Okay. It happens. Don’t just wince and put it behind you. If you don’t take steps to change things, you’re going to face the same bad choices next time.

  • What will you do differently?
  • Why were there no good alternatives?
  • What will the right time look like? How will you know?
  • How will you do a better job of recruiting, retaining, or setting them up for success?

If you don’t spend time, money, attention, or political capital on it, you don’t care about it, by definition. And it is a thousand times worse to claim you value something, and then demonstrate with your actions that you don’t care, than to never claim it in the first place.

Your resources are limited, and you must spend them with purpose

As an exec, you get a very limited amount of people’s time and attention — maybe a few minutes per week, or per month. Don’t waste them.

Jess Mink, our director of platform engineering, has a lovely story about this. They work with local search and rescue teams, which are staffed by people all over the political spectrum. The mission is crystal clear; all of them know why they’re there, and they don’t talk about things that aren’t tied to the mission. Yet Jess is giving a talk about pronouns at their next training. Why?

”Because there’s a really crisp, clear mission, I can say, I don’t care what your politics are. I’m not asking you to change your beliefs, but this is the impact of what you’re doing on these people that you’ve said you’re here to help.” ~ Jess Mink

There are a million things in the world you could say or do that would have intrinsic value. Why this thing? You should have a reason, and it should connect to your mission or your strategy for achieving it, or you are just muddying the waters.

Should political speech at work be a free-for-all?

Many leaders have opted to ban political speech at work. What’s the alternative, a free-for-all? Trump gifs and Biden Harris banners and a heated debate on the border in #general?

Please. Nobody wants that. Most folks seem to understand that work Slack is not the place for proselytizing or stirring up shit. There’s an element of good judgment here that extends well beyond political speech to include other disruptive actions such as criticizing religious beliefs, oversharing extremely personal info, posting sexy selfies, or good old verbal diarrhea. These are all, shall we say, “good coaching opportunities”. You don’t have to ban all political speech just to enforce reasonable norms.

In general, people want to work in an environment that is relatively peaceful and neutral-feeling, where people can focus on their work and our shared mission. But people also need spaces to talk about what’s going on in their lives and process their reactions.

At Honeycomb, we prefix all non-work slack channels with #misc. We have #misc-bible-reading-group, #misc-politics, #misc-book-club, #misc-shoes-and-fashion, #misc-so-fuzzy (for pictures of people’s pets).

People don’t join those channels automatically upon being hired — you have to seek them out, and you can leave them just as easily. Nobody has to worry about missing out on critical work conversations co-mingling with off putting political speech. And it’s easy to redirect non-work chatter out of work channels.

The value (and limitations) of neutrality

Neutral spaces are a good thing — a societal necessity. However, it becomes a problem when it fails to honor the paradox of tolerance — that if we tolerate the intolerant, intolerance will ultimately dominate. We cannot be equally tolerant of gay people and people who hate gay people, in other words.

At their worst, statements of neutrality punish the victimized and protect the victimizers. As Yonatan Zunger puts it, in one of my favorite essays of all time, “Tolerance is not a moral absolute; it is a peace treaty.”

But even peace treaties have their limits. Some problems are just fucking hard . As Emily put it,

“What does it mean to feel silence from the majority of your coworkers on a topic that feels like life and death to you? In normal times, silence can seem like a lack of political speech; in extraordinary times, silence speaks volumes. This creates division, even if your coworkers have landed there through ignorance or low awareness.” ~ Emily Nakashima

The hard thing about hard things is that they’re really fucking hard. There is no playbook. I can’t solve them for you here. Every situation is unique, and the details matter — details really matter, in fact. You can only take each situation as it comes with humility, sensitivity, and a willingness to listen.

Good leaders don’t invite unnecessary controversy

If you are a CEO or founder, especially, the things you say will be heard as representing the views of your company. Period. Keep this in mind, and try to be extra respectful and responsible. You don’t want your big mouth to accidentally create a wave of distraction and drama for people throughout your company to have to deal with. Your opinions are more than just your opinions.

If you’re thinking that I’m an odd person to be delivering this particular message, I sheepishly acknowledge the truth of this.

If you work at a company where the CEO and leadership openly espouse a particular set of partisan beliefs, you are inevitably going to feel somewhat othered. You wonder uncomfortably whether or not they are aware you hold different beliefs. If so, will you be promoted, will you be given equal opportunities? Would your leaders like you as much as they like employees who share their political convictions? Would they be as willing to chat with you or hang out with you? Does it matter?

People aren’t wrong to be concerned. There’s scads of research that shows how much we automatically prefer people who are more like us. It’s automatic — it’s natural. That doesn’t mean it’s right. Nor is it inevitable. We have to work harder to give an equal shot to those who aren’t like us, and we should do that.

Good leaders don’t make it all about them

One of the hardest parts about being a good leader is managing your ego, and keeping it from taking center stage or making things worse.

I have done and said a lot of dumb things online, but the worst of them was probably during the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020. I was trying to express my support, so I tweeted something about how actions matter more than words, and that we were trying to help by building a workplace where Black employees could thrive, or something like that. I don’t remember exactly (and the tweets are gone), but it was awful. I made it about us; it was super tone deaf. And I got whaled on, in a way that really threw me for a loop. I tried to apologize and made it worse. Friends blocked me.

It took me a long time to process the experience and come to terms with my mistakes: first, by framing my comments almost like a promo for how great honeycomb was, and second, by reacting so defensively when called out over it.

You don’t need to have a take on everything. And the more you have a track record of taking stances on issues, the more it’s expected of you, and the more dicey it becomes, because even not taking a stance is taking a stance.

Good leaders look for ways to de-escalate

Any time the conversation sails into the terrain of morals and ethics, it’s an automatic escalation. It raises the stakes, it exacerbates differences. It can transform an ordinary, practical matter into the forces of good versus evil in the blink of an eye.

There are bright lines and moral dilemmas in business. (Should you pay women less than men for the same work? No.) But most of our everyday work doesn’t need to be so emotionally fraught.

An example may help here. When you have a geographically distributed company, you have two basic choices when it comes to comp philosophy:

  1. have a single set of comp bands, which apply no matter where you live
  2. peg their salary to their local cost of living

When this question first came up, back in 2019, I came out swinging for the fences on option 1). I treated it like a moral question, a matter of basic human equity. “What kind of company would dare pay you less money based on where you live? What business is it of theirs where you live?” — that sort of thing.

In this, I was hardly alone. A lot of people have really strong feelings about this (I still have some pretty strong feelings about it 😬). But there are also some pretty reasonable arguments for and circumstances in which geo wage arbitrage makes a lot of sense, and can offer more opportunities to more people than you could otherwise afford. It’s not as simple as I made it out to be.

Having taken such a strong stance though, I have definitely made it extremely difficult for our finance team to change that policy, should we ever decide to.

Good leaders turn the volume down. They dampen drama, they don’t amplify it. They don’t ratchet up the stakes or the rhetoric, they look for practical solutions where possible.

Good leaders connect the culture to the mission

I started off as one of those leaders who cared more about culture than the business. In honesty, I assumed we’d fail. I never planned to start a company, it was an impulse decision. I really didn’t think I’d have to be the CEO. I wasn’t equipped for the job; I didn’t even know the difference between sales and marketing. I did however have MANY strong opinions on company culture.

The first few years of Honeycomb, any time I thought of some neat thing to try, I did it. Put an employee on the board? Yes! Run regular ethics discussions? Hell yes! Put together cross-functional teams to discuss company values? Cool!

I don’t regret it, precisely; I think it played a role in instilling a culture of curiosity and ownership. I think it helped us figure out who we were.

But as we grow past 200 people, and as the pace of growth accelerates, I am increasingly aware of the opportunity cost of these experiments. It doesn’t mean we don’t do things like this anymore, but there needs to be a much better reason than “Charity thinks it would be cool.” It needs to add up to something bigger.

Good leaders have conviction, and don’t pretend to give a shit when they don’t

I appreciate it when leaders do real talk about their values and how they make decisions. Too many leaders hide behind the bland slogans of corporate piety, in ways that tell you nothing about how they make decisions or where their priorities lie when the chips are down.

Honestly, I would rather work for someone who holds different values than I do, but who seems honest and consistent and fair-minded in their decision-making, than someone who holds the same values but whose decisions seem impulsive and subjective.

This is a business, not a family. If I believe in the mission, and the leaders and I align on the facts, and I respect their integrity and the way they make decisions, that matters more.

As it turns out, all of this has been said before…by my antagonists?!? Oh dear…

As I was wrapping up this article, I went back and read a few of the pieces written by and about the companies who banned political speech, and my mouth literally dropped open.

You could copy-paste entire sections between my article and theirs, without anyone knowing the difference.

Companies exist for the sake of their mission, check. They don’t have to have a take on everything, check. Your work day shouldn’t consist of arguments over abortion and other hot button topics, check. It IS distracting. It’s NOT why you’re here. Uh…

How can I have written the same fucking article as theirs, and come to such a radically different conclusion?

Or is it that radically different? After all, I’m not out here advocating a free-for-all, or that companies should take a stand on every social issue of the day. I actually pretty much agree with most of the sentiments these founders wrote in their official posts on the matter.

Shit?

I was sitting here having a legit internal crisis, and then I stumbled into some other pieces, where rank-and-file employees were talking about the changes and what led up to them.

Employees say the founders’ memos unfairly depicted their workplace as being riven by partisan politics, when in fact the main source of the discussion had always been Basecamp itself.

“At least in my experience, it has always been centered on what is happening at Basecamp,” said one employee. “What is being done at Basecamp? What is being said at Basecamp? And how it is affecting individuals? It has never been big political discussions, like ‘the postal service should be disbanded,’ or ‘I don’t like Amy Klobuchar.’

The whole article is required reading. It goes on to detail a hair-raising amount of hypocrisy and high-handed behaviors by the Basecamp founders; a bunch of workers who self-organized to improve internal hiring practices and culture, and how they got shut down.

“There’s always been this kind of unwritten rule at Basecamp that the company basically exists for David and Jason’s enjoyment,” one employee told me. “At the end of the day, they are not interested in seeing things in their work timeline that make them uncomfortable, or distracts them from what they’re interested in. And this is the culmination of that.”

Then there was this damning piece from the NYTimes about the appalling way Black employees were treated at Coinbase, and this one, which closes with an anecdote about the Coinbase CEO tweeting out his own (noxious) political views in direct contradiction of his own policies. Oopsie-daisy. 🌼

Are these policies designed to protect the mission, or the CEO?

All of this paints a very different picture. These bans on political speech seem to be less about protecting the commons from wayward employees who won’t stop distracting everyone with hot button political arguments, and more about employees doing their level best to grapple with real tensions and systemic problems at work — problems that their leaders got sick of hearing about and decided to shut down.

There’s a real stench of “politics for me, but not for thee!” in a lot of these cases, which makes it extra galling. At the beginning of this piece, I noted that “politics” is an obscenely broad category — it can mean almost anything. So when the CEO arrogates to himself the right to define it and silence it, it generates a lot of confusion and uncertainty. That’s bad for the mission!

The fact is, this shit is hard. It’s hard to craft a strategy and execute. It’s hard to train managers to have hard conversations with their employees, or gently de-escalate when things get emotionally fraught. It’s hard to reset expectations on how much of a voice employees can expect to have in a given area. It’s hard to know when to take a stand on principle, and back it with your time and treasure, and when to settle or compromise.

But you signed up for this, bro. It’s part of the job, and you’re getting paid a lot of money to do it. You don’t get to just nope out when the going gets rough.

Just because you made a rule that people can’t talk about the hard stuff, doesn’t mean the hard stuff goes away. It mostly just serves to reinforce whatever power structures and inequities already exist in your company. Which means a lot of people will go on doing just fine, while some are totally fucked. You’ve also shut down all of the reasonable routes for people to advocate for change, so good job, you.

You don’t have to agree with them, but you do have to be respectful to your employees

Look, none of us are perfect. That’s why systems need mechanisms for change. Resiliency isn’t about never breaking the system, it’s about knowing your systems will break, and equipping them with the tools to repair.

If you want to lead a company, you have to deal with the people. It comes with the job.

If you want your people to care as much about the mission as you do, to feel personally invested in its success, to devote whole long stretches of their brilliant, creative, busy lives to helping you make that mission come true…you owe them in return.

If a bunch of your employees are waving a flag and urgently saying “we have a problem”, they are very likely doing you a favor. Either way, they deserve to be heard.

You don’t have to do what they want. But you ought to listen to them, and reserve judgment. Open your eyes. Look around. Do some reading. Talk to people. Consider whether you might be missing something. Then make a decision and give an honest answer. They may or may not agree, and they may or may not choose to stay, but that’s what treating them with respect looks like, just like you ask them to treat you, and each other.

To instead say “Sorry, your feedback is a distraction from the mission and will no longer be tolerated” is so unbelievably disrespectful, and wrapping your decision in the noble flag of the mission is dishonest. It’s hard to tell sometime whether people are deluding themselves or only trying to delude other people, but holy shit, what a doozy.

Good leaders know they will make mistakes, and when they do, they own them, apologize properly, and fix them. They do not use their power to silence people and then swagger around like they own the moral high ground.

Pragmatism, Neutrality and Leadership