strangefishbigpond

Ok, so this one hurts.

I always hoped that this blog would give me the opportunity to write honestly and humorously about the ups and downs of corporate life. If I could manage to maintain an even keel and a demeanour of bonhomie whilst continuing to navigate a broadly successful career I’d be happy, and writing about it would be the icing on the cake. Sure I knew it wouldn’t be plain sailing, and I hoped that the writing would help me get rid of some of the frustrations of being a “normal” person lucky enough to have found themselves in possession of a high powered executive life, where the things that go on and the people you mingle with are anything but normal, but I didn’t want it to become my own personal moanfest of gripes. Well sometimes you don’t get what you want, and I’m afraid that is the only warning that you, the long suffering reader, is going to get for this particular diatribe.

It’s well over a year since I carelessly “lost” my dream CEO job. This has given me time to reflect, develop and breathe. Or at least that’s the case according to the “personal brand narrative” that I have since been encouraged to develop in order to “sell myself” to Headhunters and potential suitors, as well as providing the obligatory update to the LinkedIn profile. Sounds good and healthy right?

In reality it has been a torrid year that has felt more like ten. Over a year of going over the same old mental bullshit, time and time again to try banish the persistent inquisition in my mind that was demanding I figure out why I was so unceremoniously dumped out on my arse, when all that I had done was my very best to turn around a basket case, and most frustratingly, it had actually worked. Past tense. With proof.

The simple and brutal truth I most regularly conclude is that for whatever reason I got on the wrong side of one single all-knowing financial wizard private equity guru, who, with his heady mix of zero real world experience and a huge ego, simply deemed my approach and therefore my face not a “fit” for his carefully coiffured brand. Sadly, these are the small subset of money men for the super-rich that control modern day business outcomes, who makes calls on a whim, and their influence is increasing every day.

The more I reflect the more I’m sure that the flicker that sparked my oh so carefully managed exit was an early pre-sale clash with the full array of these all knowing arrogant tosspots. They were buying the business we had just turned around as a small part of a package with other much bigger and more broken businesses. Not interested in knowing a success story from an isolated side business that was actually a positive one, they strove resolutely to build their iron clad non negotiable narrative that the whole business must have been severely distressed, otherwise they wouldn’t have bought it. Something in the business that was working simply did not fit the brief. The chief tosspot – we will call him Wally – was a real piece of work. Despite blindingly obvious numerical evidence (and they like numbers) and overwhelming feedback from team and customers, he refused to believe our turnaround was real and basically called it fiction. In front of my battle hardened team. It didn’t land well with me or the team and so I said so.

That pre-sale Royal visit was the only time we hosted anyone from the wonder-firm for the first year or so. I was lucky enough to be invited to the country retreat, where copious amounts of other people’s cash was spent on frivolous and unnecessary luxuries whilst we were indoctrinated in the secret sauce of turnaround (in totally unrelated businesses) and told we needed to act like honey badgers. Basking in the glow of such insightful wisdom I returned to home base and foolishly attempted to keep my head down and do what we had been doing, which was delivering real results.

Wally’s response was pretty much to ignore any pesky side show and press on with his own heavily trumpeted press. “A deal for the ages conjured by financial wizards”. “Huge turnaround task ahead but these are the boys to do it”. “There’ll be no stone unturned in the drive for value”. A PE PR team in overdrive. He then managed to trump even his own PR by installing a new publicity hungry, image conscious, rock star Group CEO – and by default my new boss – whose unveiling was seen as an unequivocal masterstroke. To be fair, for quite a while I was sold on this tale too. It seemed like finally there was someone speaking my language. Someone who got it. Someone I could trust. Big mistake. But more of that another time. Much more.

I learnt later through detective work and reflection that my fate was already sealed. The next year or so of working in the glow of the new world, and that shadow of a rock star, was simply just a dance. A dance of death. Although the death would play out exceptionally slowly and painfully. I’m sure the smirking Wally enjoyed it.

So eventually the final “conversation” came. I was out. Supposedly with heavy hearts all round, a set of glowing endorsements and an unlikely publicly stated rationale for my sudden departure. The murky world of networks and Board Room pals and Executive Recruiters had been well briefed and were quick to offer advice. “No rush”. “Be positive.” Take time to reflect”. “The right next role will come along”, they said, those wise sages. Liars. No frigging jobs come along and I just get angrier and more bitter about the unfairness of it all. Mid 50s, white and male are no longer the holy trilogy when it comes to filling CEO roles. Whilst I’m not against the righting this long overdue wrong of equality and diversity, the timing of its drive has certainly done me no favours, and there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount of “quality” thought put into it, just quotas to hit. Sadly there are just as many box tickers in this new world. They are simply ticking different boxes and my box is well and truly the wrong shape and size.

I’ll survive I’m sure. I always have, yet this time it does seem different. The hope that has always been essential to light the way feels like it’s fading fast. And it’s not just the job (or lack of) but it seems to impact everything else too. In an increasingly angsty world I seem to have become surrounded by fewer and fewer people who care, and people in stressful situations seem to have a magnetic pull towards me. I end up using up my sympathy on others which just leaves resentment and anger for myself. Somehow, something has to change.

The last year has seen my former twin towers of strength – my hard earned healthy habits and my very unnatural self confidence go head to head in a kamikaze competition with a crash landing imminent. All the things that were working before are either no longer practical option or seem to be impossible.

People find purpose in different ways and in different things. Unfortunately for me, I think that I had found mine in helping change this business and all the wonderful people in it, from being scared and scarred, to being proud and winners. That being taken from me is still really raw. And the stereotypical nature of the person who manufactured my downfall does not help a jot. I have had time to brood and expunge. My fervent hope is that this self-indulgent moanfest is my final vomit of expunging, and that I can now move on to finding a new purpose. If you, the poor long suffering reader have got this far, then firstly well done. You too will have now suffered, and for that I really do apologise. But blame Wally.