A year after my fiftieth birthday, the leadership structure where I worked underwent some significant changes. When change happens at the very top, the rest only rolls one way, demonstrating the laws of gravity. I was right in the middle of that way. After spending my entire adult life working to climb that particular corporate ladder, I was on my way down, passing Sisyphus as he futilely made his way up a hill he would never reach, neither of us really happy.
The president of my division was changing roles, and someone new would be steering the infamous corporate ship. I had minimal history with his replacement. While I was very effective at managing both up and down, demonstrated by my increasing responsibilities as I outlasted four managers with very different styles over sixteen years, I wasn’t prepared to manage my blindside.
Just before all this happened, my manager had “exited” the organization. I’d been in that world long enough to know that when the captain abandons ship or is forced to walk the plank, things don’t end well for the crew. My gut was telling me that my time at Avidité Health was coming to an end. It was.
Alexa, the incoming president, had joined our division from a past triennial reorganization orchestrated by our Parisian custodians. During our annual leadership meeting, leaders unaffected by upcoming changes announced with much excitement our next triennial reorganization, including merging the healthcare marketing agency I led with another agency.
In one of my first interactions with Alexa, I was struggling with the performance of a new senior employee, and I asked for her advice on how to approach the situation. She conveyed to me her disappointment with his performance, especially since “he has the look.” I thought to myself, He has the look? Is this some 1980s musical reference? Personally, I would have preferred a little respect.
Those four words, “he has the look,” came galloping at me like the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow, bringing dread and death. Not only the death of my career at Avidité Health, but the annihilation of my false faith in meritocracy. Murdered, guillotined by the French.
Throughout my entire professional career of thirty-some years, I falsely believed my success was the result of a little luck and enormous pluck, a belief that began with school and Scouts. Suddenly, my outward appearance cast a dark shadow on my past accomplishments. Starting a division, turning around broken businesses, and successfully merging agencies without client attrition were all negated because I didn’t have “the look.” So much for liberty, fraternity, equality.
Until that point, I believed that success was determined solely by the results of an individual’s effort, not by one’s appearance even while working in the world of marketing, promotion, and spin. Selling “health” meant selling a false reality conveyed through commercials and advertisements. I completely misjudged the power of pictures while leading a creative healthcare agency.
The agency merger felt like a shotgun marriage, the consummation already complete with a baby on the way. I was familiar with the other agency leader: Ed had “the look” Alexa favored. I was the Costello to his Abbott, the Luigi to his Mario, the Jan to his Marcia. He had been with Avidité Health for two years. Prior to this merger, his agency had significantly underperformed, resulting in two recent rounds of layoffs. This is why I, along with my leadership and agency team, were shocked when Alexa announced Ed would be leading this new combo agency. She must have assumed employees would ignore the recent rounds of layoffs and pay no attention to the mess behind the curtain.
I was named COO, but I was certain that once the merger was complete, Alexa would expect Ed to eliminate my position. On a chilly, Manhattan March day, minutes before catching my flight to go back home on a jet plane, Ed hurried me into a little room. He shut the door and delivered the redundancy rationale for my layoff. End scene.
Several months later, Ed would experience the same laws of gravity. Only the locale, rationale, and messenger would be different, but death would come as it does for all. In our pursuit of money, there is no grace. As Forrest Gump said, “that’s all I have to say about that.”
The elimination of my position was a bitter pill for this pharmaceutical marketing executive to swallow. I learned that no matter my beliefs or actions, the sun will rise, and the rain will fall on all. There is nothing I can do to change the weather; I can only go through its storms.
Peace. God loves you.
If you enjoyed this story, discover more in Finding God in Vegas: A Gen X Spiritual Awakening, available on Amazon and across all platforms in print or electronic or audio.