I remember a time when I worked for others, and some of the decisions made by people above me seemed almost insultingly simple. I couldn’t understand why there was such a long wait, why the director simply wouldn’t say yes or no, why something that was obviously wrong to everyone dragged on for months, or why five meetings had to be held over one seemingly minor issue.
Back then, I had answers to almost everything. They were quick, precise, and—looking back—much more confident than my knowledge warranted.
Years later, I found myself on the other side of the table. Not all at once, nor in some grand moment of realization. Rather, through a series of small situations in which I’d catch myself postponing a decision I would once have considered obvious, reopening a conversation I would previously have claimed was unnecessary, or asking for more time on something about which, as an employee, I would probably already have had a very clear opinion.
It wasn’t pleasant to recognize myself in the people I once resented.
Of course, I see many things differently today. I know that a decision rarely comes on its own. Behind it often lie hidden costs, the people affected by the change, commitments already made, deadlines, relationships, agreements, and consequences that only become clear long after the decision has been implemented. What looks like unnecessary waiting from one perspective may, from another, be an attempt not to make the problem bigger than the one you’re trying to solve.
All of this is true, but it’s very easy for a person to create a comfortable space for themselves where every decision they make is justifiable. This is where the second danger arises. If you keep explaining to yourself why you had to do things that way, you may stop noticing the moments when you were simply wrong.
That’s why I occasionally return to that younger version of myself who sat on the other side of the table and was convinced he knew how things should be handled. Today I know how much he couldn’t see. I also know how little he knew about the weight of the decisions he so easily judged.
But just because he didn’t know everything doesn’t mean he was wrong about everything. Some of his criticisms I would still have to accept today.
That’s why I sometimes wonder how I would appear today to the person I was around fifteen years ago. Not to judge myself, nor to prove that I’m right today.
It’s more of a test. The years on the other side of the table easily explain why I’m no longer the same person.
It’s much harder to notice the moment when you start to resemble the person you were once certain you’d never become.
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