They call me indispensable. Irreplaceable. Is there really such a thing? I’m not talking about the value of a human life. Life and death are not in dispute in my mind. I’m thinking now about a situation that I’ve found myself in that is very new for me. I’m changing jobs. That’s not what’s new, but the feelings that are associated with this particular job change have been unique.
The company I work for is a start-up. For anyone who has worked for a start-up, that is a loaded statement. Frankly, it’s a certain type of person who can do it successfully. First and foremost, there must be an understanding that it’s resting state is chaos. For people who thrive in routine and established certainty, a start-up is most assuredly NOT the place to be. If the policies and procedures must be tried and true, a start-up is not going to be a good fit. In fact, that’s a recipe for disaster.
I always say “Blessed are the flexible, they don’t get bent out of shape.” You can ask my co-workers. I say it. Always. Like a mantra. That’s the life in a start-up. Start-up status doesn’t go away after a year. Or two. Or three. It takes a solid five to seven years for the kind of establishment that holds stability in more than a mesh sieve. Steady-type personalities hear that scenario and feel nauseous. The two simply don’t jive and that’s totally cool.
There are those, however, who hear that description and think “dude, bring it on!” In my phone interview with the HR manager at the time, I remember her asking me if the thought of working for a start-up scared me. I told her “I just got laid off from a 25 year-old successful company. Ain’t nothin’ you got that’s gonna scare me.” I had the job within a week.
Here I am, four years later and about to embark on the next leg of my professional journey. I’m apparently the only one who’s cool with that. So what did I do? Well, I grew up. The instructions I authored when I first started are obsolete because change was the only constant, so I rode the wave and I understand it. I feel the rhythm of the business. It has come to the point that when someone new starts in some other department on the other side of the plant, almost any administrative question is answered with “have you tried asking KC?”
I have trained my replacement to the best of my ability, and I am a good trainer, if I do say so myself. Others have said the same. I know that the information I have to pass along is valid, useful, solid information and it’s what my colleagues will need to continue in my stead. So… why be called indispensable? Because my boss still asks me how to do things? That’s not impossible to replace. Difficult, yes, but I never said it would be easy. The knowledge is there and I’ve dispensed as much as I could possible give in the amount of time I’ve had. What are they considering irreplaceable ?
It’s not the work; It’s not the tasks themselves. Those can be done by anyone. It’s not the calling people by name from the CEO to the groundskeeper (his name is Ed, by the way). Anyone can do that too, and should. Helping wherever possible or pointing in the right direction… Nope, that’s easy to replicate. So, what is it?
Apparently, the ebb and flow of the business that I feel to the point that it’s a part of me, that’s what it is. No one hired on now can understand on an experiential level what those beginning days were like when there were six employees and we were building the business that was different each day. The understanding of the business that comes from being one of the last remaining “originals” is not something that they can replace. I get it now. It’s like having a hand in raising a child. I participated in building it. There’s pride there, and hope and concern and protectiveness and responsibility and… It’s not just a job.
There are going to be pains involved for those I leave behind. Growing pains. They will trip and they will fall, but they will also be all the stronger for it. They’re nervous to take it and run because I’ve always been there. So, no, they can’t replace me and what I mean to them, but they can certainly succeed without me by using what I taught them. My fingerprints will always be all over that place. They’ll learn to run, and in a few years they’ll learn to fly.
And so will I.