The other day, my husband—who is a software engineer and, let’s be honest, a lot more Zen about things than I am—came out of a meeting laughing. I’m over here thinking, “Great, they must have pushed out another genius feature,” but no. He’s shaking his head and telling me about some code he just reviewed.
Apparently, it was one of those ‘get it done fast and who cares how’ kinds of deals. He said, “It’s like someone just blindfolded themselves, stumbled into a dark room to build something, and then left without ever turning the lights on. Now, anyone who walks in after them has no idea what’s what. All we can do is feel around, hoping not to trip over some hidden mess.”
And as he’s talking, full transparency, I’m thinking, Oh no… I’m that worker.
I am exactly that person. You know, the kind that charges into work like, “Get it done, we’ll figure out the details later. Move fast, break things!” (Not my fault—I’m an entrepreneur, and isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?) But then my husband said something that stopped me in my tracks:
“Slowing down actually saves time in the future because we know exactly what’s going on. We don’t have to waste time figuring out what’s broken or what needs fixing. We just move forward, cleanly.”
It was like a lightbulb moment for me. Why do I run around like a human matchstick, lighting everything on fire and assuming someone else will skillfully and smoothly handle the smoldering remains later?
Here’s the thing: As high-powered, high-achieving entrepreneurial types, we love the thrill of the start. We’re addicted to that initial momentum. We set things in motion, and then, oops, we forget to follow through. We assume someone else will figure it out later because we’re already onto the next idea. But what if—stay with me here—that’s not actually the best way to lead?
What if leadership, the real, sustainable kind, is about slowing down enough to make sure that what you’re building doesn’t just look good but actually works? So that your team doesn’t spend all their time in some metaphorical dark room, feeling around for what’s broken, what’s missing, or what needs to be done.
I think we need to fight that urge to rush, to start fires, to leave messes in our wake. Maybe we need to stop living like everything is urgent. I mean, is it? Or are we just addicted to the rush?
So here’s to slowing down. Here’s to doing it right the first time so your team isn’t left wondering what the heck you did or didn’t do. Let’s stop setting fires we don’t plan to put out—and start building things that actually last.
Because isn’t that what real leadership is?