Small Acts of Faith: Being Part of the Equation

 So, there was this other time that one of my star direct reports (we’ll call him George) handed me a letter.

I looked down at it.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s my letter of resignation,” he said.

I read it.

“I guess it is,” I replied.  “Why are you giving it to me?”

He blinked.  Long pause.  “Because…I’m resigning.”

“Two weeks?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.  “That’s the fair thing to do to you.”

“Thanks.  You don’t have to do that, though.  You can go now.”

More blinking.  More silence.

Awkward silence.

“Why?”  I asked him.

“I got a better offer.”

“Better offer or more money?”

Pause.  “More money,” he responded.

“Come here,” I said, and led him into a room.

“Sit down, “I said.  

He sat.

“If you leave here now looking for money, you’ll be chasing money for the rest of your life.  That’s not a way to find fulfillment in your work.”

He said nothing.

“George, if they offered you a real chance to do something more with your career than I could offer you here, I wouldn’t even try to get you to stay.  As much as I love having you on our team, I wouldn’t stop you from doing what’s best for you or for your family.”  I paused.  “Is money really what’s best?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  He sat in silence, something heavy weighing down his brow.  It was cut with deep furrows.

“You have a good thing here.  You have tons of friends.  Everyone around here knows you.  I see how happy you are going about your work every day.  You do more for the folks around here than most people in your position would do.  Others learn from you.”

He sat in silence, watching me.

“I don’t have to think twice about what goes on with this team day-to-day because you are such a good leader.  I know you’ve got a handle on things, and that allows me to do more than I would have otherwise been able to do.  I’ll miss you if you leave, but I think you’ll miss all of us more.”

“Yeah…I hear you.”

“I’ll shake your hand and wish you well if you decide to lead.  I just want you to make sure it’s what you really want,” I added.

“Yeah, yeah…  Listen, can…can you give me a few minutes here?  I’m not sure…”

“Look, I’ll take this letter, and I’ll put it in a folder in my desk.  Take a week.  Think about it.  If you decide that you want to do this, then let me know.  We’ll shake hands, no hard feelings, and you can go start the next phase of your career.  OK?”

“Yeah, yeah…OK.  Thanks…thanks, Ric.”

“Sure.”

We shook hands.

The next day, he stopped by my desk.

“Can you tear that letter up?” he asked.

“Of course I can.”  And I did.  Right in front of him.

He smiled and walked away.

Now, I don’t know if there are times in his life when George thinks about that moment and wished he’d made a different decision.  I can’t tell you.  I live 900 miles away now.  I see his name from time to time, so I know he’s still around.  I hope that he’s doing well, and I hope that he hasn’t regretted his decision.  For years after, I know he didn’t.  He told me as much.  We didn’t really talk about that exchange.  He just mentioned it to me one day.  He told me he was glad he stayed on, remained a part of our team.  I was glad he did, too.  He was…better after that.  He worked a little harder, led with a little more confidence.  He’s doing more technically challenging things now.

I like to think that, together, we made good choices for his career.  At minimum, I hope that I asked the right question at the right time.  And I hope he gave the right, most honest answer.  

My faith in him was a small part of the equation; his faith in himself was the most important part.