The fluorescent lights hummed with an unsettling buzz, a familiar soundtrack to what was about to unfold. On the third floor of the Cardiwan tower, the new Executive Vice President, barely three days into their tenure, confidently clicked to the next slide. A "90-Day Transformation Initiative," it declared, in bold, sans-serif font. The room, populated by veterans who'd nurtured the very process in question for five long years - through three previous reorganizations, twenty-three software upgrades, and countless late nights - shifted uneasily. I remember a similar scene from three years ago, almost to the day. The sheer audacity of it still sends a chill down my spine, even as I recognize a familiar pattern.
We're all just tourists on someone else's project. That's the feeling. You walk in, see the grand architecture, admire the view for a moment, perhaps take a few photos, then decide the fountain would look better in the west wing and the north wall needs a bold new mural. All this, based on a 45-minute briefing and a quick glance at the blueprints. The people who laid the foundation, who know every creak in the floorboards, every leak, every historical patch-up, are simply expected to implement the new vision. Their deep institutional knowledge, painstakingly accumulated over dozens of thousands of hours, is often dismissed as resistance, or worse, as an inability to embrace innovation. I used to be quick to blame the new VP, the highly paid consultant, the 'disruptor' with their flashy presentation deck. I've softened my stance over time, recognizing that it's rarely about individual malice, but a deeply flawed incentive structure.
Mia P.K., a prison librarian I once met (briefly, during a charity project, not a stint behind bars, for clarity's sake), had a saying: 'You don't understand the silence until you've cataloged every echo.' She ran her library - a small, quiet sanctuary within an incredibly complex and often chaotic system - with a meticulous understanding of its underlying rhythm. She wouldn't have dared suggest moving the entire non-fiction section without first spending three months observing, listening, and understanding the existing flow, the 'silence' of how information moved. Her approach was the antithesis of the corporate 'project tourist' who, on their brief assignment, sees only the surface, the unread books, and proposes a complete overhaul for the sake of 'impact.' Mia knew impact came from understanding, not just action.
Think about it: who gets promoted? Who gets noticed? Is it the person who meticulously maintains a stable, functional system for years, preventing problems from ever arising? Or is it the person who sweeps in, declares the old system broken, implements a 'revolutionary' new one, and then moves on to their next promotion before the dust settles and the long-term consequences become apparent? Our corporate landscape, particularly in larger organizations like those served by Cardiwan, often incentivizes the splash over the sustained swim. It rewards the visible 'project,' the 'initiative,' the 'transformation,' even if that transformation ultimately dismantles robust, if unsung, processes. The short-term optics are often paramount, and the real cost is borne by those left behind.
Software Upgrades
USD Lost
I've been on both sides, though perhaps not at the VP level. I remember a project involving a CRM system, about thirteen years ago. I inherited a relatively stable, if imperfect, setup. My immediate instinct, fueled by youthful ambition and a desire to make my mark, was to point out every flaw and propose a sweeping overhaul. I convinced myself, and my boss, that the system was inefficient, that we were losing out on valuable data, that a 'digital transformation' was desperately needed. We spent three million dollars, countless hours, and three months disrupting everything, only to end up with a system that was… different. Not necessarily better. The team, which had been quietly effective, was demoralized. We discovered, too late, that many of the supposed 'flaws' were actually workarounds that perfectly addressed real-world complexities the new off-the-shelf solution couldn't handle. The original architects, long since moved on, had built a remarkably resilient structure, even if it wasn't pretty. My 'impact' was mostly destructive. It's a lesson that still hums in my memory, a quiet, persistent reminder to approach every new 'opportunity for improvement' with genuine humility.
This cycle creates a deep sense of learned helplessness among the people who do the actual work. Why invest three years in refining a critical process, in identifying and documenting every edge case, in building robust tools, when you know that in three months, someone will arrive with a shiny new mandate and dismantle it all? Why bother innovating incrementally, pushing for efficiency gains that amount to $373,000 in annual savings, when a 'transformation' promises millions (on paper, at least) in the quarterly report? The incentive structure essentially tells the workforce: don't get too attached. Don't invest too much of your soul. Because whatever you build, whatever you stabilize, is merely a temporary stage prop for the next tourist passing through.
The real tragedy is the loss of accumulated wisdom. The quiet expertise that resides in the hands and minds of the long-serving team members, the ones who know exactly why that odd-looking workaround exists, why that particular report is structured that way, or why certain client relationships need a very specific touch. This tacit knowledge is invisible to the project tourist, who sees only data points and flowcharts. It's the difference between reading a travel guide and living in a city for thirty-three years. The guide can tell you the best restaurants, but it can't tell you about the local baker who sells bread at 5:03 AM every morning, or the specific corner where the sunlight hits just right in October, or the quiet resilience of the people after a flood.
Spend time understanding the existing system and its rhythms.
Reward maintenance, stability, and incremental improvement.
Approach new initiatives with deep respect for existing knowledge.
The Path Forward
So, what do we do about this? I used to think it was about better onboarding, longer transition periods, more mentorship. These things help, certainly. But the deeper issue is the definition of 'success' itself. We need to redefine 'impact' to include stewardship, stability, and thoughtful, incremental improvement. We need to reward the quiet heroes who keep the ship afloat, not just the ones who claim to be building a new, faster one (which often sinks three months after they depart). We need leaders who understand that true transformation isn't always a dramatic upheaval, but often the patient, insightful cultivation of what already exists. The challenge is immense, the current embedded culture is strong. But unless we learn to value the deep understanding that only comes from living, breathing experience within a system, rather than simply passing through it, we'll continue to build a corporate landscape populated by ghost projects, each one started with grand ambition, and left to decay by the next wave of well-meaning, high-impact tourists.