Last week, I was officially declared diverse. Here’s what that’s about.
I was on the phone with an Authentic Young Person, who was an employee of a consulting firm to which I am, well, consulting. This was sort of the HR onboarding call, so most of it was about the organization’s policies, principles, priorities and other alliterative features. This is quite a small organization, and the conversation, at some point, came to diversity.
Now, just to clear the metaphorical air here, nobody – nobody – is less diverse than I am. Hell, Martha Stewart, who is actually Polish, is more diverse than I am. I am:
White
Male
A Boomer
Christian, and Protestant
Straight
A parent
Very ambulatory
Not really neurodivergent at all, although I sometimes have a touch of the ADHD.
I literally have relatives on one side who were on the Mayflower. On the other, everyone’s Swedish, who are the most boring, respectable, law-abiding ethnicity on the planet. We gave the world Ikea (“Honey, let’s get the Gunar and the Lars, okay?”) and Abba. I come from western New York State, one of the least diverse regions on the planet.
And then something unexpected happened. In the middle of a discussion which I thought had nothing whatsoever to do with me personally.
He explained that the firm prized diversity, and that they believed it was important to include all kinds of different perspectives in their operations, that it led to improved decisions, better work and so on. And – I don’t remember exactly how this came up – that included me – because old.
Because old.
I’m going to be 62 in August. The CYP to whom I was speaking was young enough to be my son, and if everyone was especially naughty, my grandson.
Now, my age is not exactly news to me. Just recently, I got the little thingy from the Social Security Administration telling me that were I to retire, which I can basically do right now, I would be eligible to receive checks every month.
I get stuff from AARP.
I fall asleep at 9.
I cannot really drink anymore.
And yet, for reasons which are probably deeply psychiatric, it never occurred to me to even think, really, about how this might play out at work. In part, I guess, this is because I’ve been a remote worker for years, what’s also known as an “individual contributor” in corporatespeak.
I’m a writer. I do my thing, send in my copy, send in a bill, and usually never leave the house. It’s like being an agoraphobic session musician. I haven’t been to an actual meeting oh, gosh, five years. Seven. I just don’t do that stuff, so my actual age never comes up.
Except it just did. So let’s unpack it. The first lesson, apparently, is that everyone becomes diverse if they just hang around long enough. Or, as the progressive rock bank Yes taught us long ago in a song unsurprisingly titled It Can Happen:
It can happen to you
It can happen to me
It can happen to everyone eventually
It’s actually a pretty cool song.
I worked for Apple for three years. They make diversity a very high priority. The basic idea, which they’re far from unique in espousing, is that by having a wide range of different points of view at the table, you get better results. You get more and different ideas. You prevent everyone from seeing things the same way. You understand your customers better. Sacred cows are slaughtered, the status quo is challenged, and in the end, everyone wins. This is apart from the basic fairness argument for diversity, which is also correct.
I think this is true. I believe that when everyone looks and thinks alike, because they came from the same background – especially a privileged one – you can often end up with a kind of mindless corporate or group dumbness. Nobody wants to rock the boat. Everyone is being well rewarded by the status quo. So, there’s a huge amount of inertia, and a lot of unspoken bias in place, which will run organizations right straight off a cliff sometimes.
Typically, of course, this argument is usually framed in terms of race, or gender, or sexual preference, or physical handicap. But I have never heard this presented in the context of age. In other words, what, as an old guy operating in a business with a bunch of young whippersnappers, do I have to offer? What do I have to say that’s different than my younger peers? How does it help?
As a starting point, I think older people are, if they have any sense, better at keeping their mouths shut. Anyone who knows me may be amazed to hear me say these words, but forty years in different kinds of businesses have taught me the supreme, almost transcendent value, of saying a lot less than I might have when I was younger. I had a friend in Santa Cruz, Andre Lafleur, who in addition to a great name, had calling cards that simply said, “Stop Talking.” He was onto something.
What makes this happen is an inner voice, an editor, really, that takes decades and a LOT of experience to fully mature, so to speak. This editor asks a lot of questions about the thing you’re about to say, because it has heard too many people say too many things so many times. I’ve seen every party clown there is, and I have learned what the impact can be.
First, and perhaps most importantly, as an old person you learn to ask yourself whether what you are considering saying will help. Does it move the discussion forward, or are you simply repeating what someone else has already said, or trying to make yourself look a certain way, or just attention-whoring? The bigger the group the more likely this will happen.
The Rotary, a big international service organization, has an interesting take on this. It’s a four-part test they use for this issue:
Of the things we think, say or do
Is it the TRUTH?
Is it FAIR to all concerned?
Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?
Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?
I like this a lot. Can you imagine how the world would be different if, say, Presidential candidates applied this test? Parents? People on social media? My self-created test, then, is just a version of the Rotary’s Question #4.
Second, you also learn to ask yourself whether the people you’re talking with, or to, are likely to hear what you’re saying and react well to it. You can say the most brilliant, insightful, compassionate thing imaginable, but if your audience can’t take it in, you’re not only wasting time, but probably doing a little damage. Can they hear it? Can they understand it? Is it something they’re likely to acknowledge and consider, or is it better for you to keep quiet and let things play out? How will what you’re thinking of saying land with your audience?
You also learn, when you get older, to temper your belief in the importance of what you have to say, or what you’ve experienced. Things do change – people change, technology changes, and the fastest, worst way to become irrelevant is to automatically assume that what worked before will work this time, and vice-versa. Even if you’re right – in fact, particularly if you’re right – it will come out in the wash in time. They can listen to you, or they can find out through experience.
You learn that there is in fact such a thing as a stupid question, but if you’re reasonably smart and reasonably prepared, you also don’t worry about looking stupid because you don’t understand something. Some of the most powerful words you can say in business are, “I don’t follow you” or simply “Could you explain that a little more?” Younger people, I suspect, are often sensitive about how they’ll appear if or when they don’t know something. I don’t care.
You learn through experience that judging anyone based on race, color or who they prefer sleeping with is usually pretty stupid. I have to admit that the pronoun thing still baffles me, but I can remember the exact moment that the whole race doesn’t matter thing hit me like a ton of bricks.
I went to law school in West Philadelphia, which was pretty much Happy Hunting Ground for thieves and muggers – all kinds of Ivy League kids running around with bikes and computers and stuff. My apartment was burglarized several times, including once by using a small child who squeezed through the bars on my windows and left a tiny footprint on my pillow, which was next to the window. That was cheating, I thought.
Anyway, one night I had gone to a big, fancy event at the First Troop Cavalry in Philadelphia, a military unit that had been in service since 1774. Philly is full of stuff like that. Anyway, I returned home to my student hovel a little drunk (okay, very drunk. Happy?) wearing my Brooks Brothers getup, at about 2 AM, and was relieved of my wallet at knifepoint. I went to the police station, which was pointless, and sat there next to another fellow who happened to be black, and had been carjacked at gunpoint. His eyes, reasonably enough, were like saucers. And right then and there, sitting in West Philadelphia police station, with homeless people sleeping in the foyer, I realized that he and I were exactly the same. Color didn’t matter, age didn’t matter, we’d both been victimized and that was all that mattered.
You also learn, as an older person, that because you don’t have the infinite energy you used to, that although there are times when it helps to work late, burn the candle at both ends and so on, there are also times when it’s just a waste of time and a romantic fantasy. Similarly, you learn that although by and large, it’s a dumb idea to let your emotions off the leash, sometimes it’s not, particularly if that emotion is humor, or enthusiasm or very occasionally, irritation or even anger. You can be human. You should be human.
One of the best examples of this, ever, was the CEO of a startup I was part of. The head of business development decided to mock him in a series of emails that were copied to the entire executive team. It ended when, finally, the clearly annoyed CEO sent this guy a one-sentence email, and cc:d everyone. It simply read: “Tim: Don’t piss me off.”
You learn that there are things that matter at work, such as results, numbers and so on, and things that don’t, like attending meetings (usually), speculating about who did what or who will do what, gossip and so on. You learn with respect to the latter that the best way to win is not to play. Vanity metrics are hot air, but real metrics are incredibly important.
You learn to learn by watching people, and to take inspiration where you find it. Or, rather, you learn that inspiration is usually kind of worthless – it’s emotional cotton candy, and doesn’t really help. What helps, you learn, is seeing smart, good people doing what they’re skilled at, and learning to be better at what you do by observing them.
One of the founders, for example, of the startup I began this piece with, is a terrific negotiator. He doesn’t get emotional, he doesn’t play ego games or try to intimidate people. He instead sees the process as a kind of chess game or puzzle. If something doesn’t work, he tries something else. Or waits and tries later. I’m learning from him.
Finally, and most importantly, perhaps, I also like to think I bring to the table a hard-won understanding that, really, everything’s going to be okay.
Often, there’s a tendency in groups for people to develop the collective perspective that disaster – some kind of unknown, but looming worst case -- is at hand. I’m not sure why this happens, but when a deal falls through, a piece of hardware fails, someone gets fired, things don’t go according to plan or something else goes wrong, there’s always a tendency for groups of people to freak out. This is especially true with younger people. I wonder, sometimes, if this isn’t driving our political situation these days.
This is, in fact, so prevalent that there’s even an acronym for it in startups: “WFIO” which stands for, “We’re fucked, it’s over.” Another handy allusion to this was coined by the writer Anne Lamott, who described the radio station that plays at top volume in her head at times like that: K-FUCKED. It’s on the air 24 hours a day, reminding you that you’re doomed. Everyone has it, and the younger and less experienced you are, the louder it plays.
NB: Ms. Lamott, speaking of diversity, is noteworthy because not only is she a skilled writer, but she has worn multicolored dreadlocks for years, and kind of pulls it off.
Well, I don’t hear it at all. I have worked everywhere from the biggest, most valuable business enterprise on the planet to tiny startups with no money, no product, no anything. And everything really does end up being okay. Disaster happens because people freak out, not the other way around. And when I’m calm, when I communicate that I’ve seen this movie before, when I don’t get upset when everyone else thinks we should, I calm the waters. This happens even, or especially, when younger colleagues think I’m insane because I’m not panicking.
Nope, not panicking. Everything’s going to work out. Everyone’s going to be fine. Now, let’s get on with things.
Yep.
I also liked the line of Brian Roger's, the now retired CEO of T. Rowe Price: "The end of the world doesn't happen very often".