What You Let Pass Becomes Permission

You said something to your team this week without opening your mouth.

Somebody talked over somebody else in a meeting. You moved the agenda on.

A deadline slipped and nothing happened afterwards. No conversation, no consequence, no particular acknowledgement.

Somebody made a joke that was slightly at another person’s expense, and the room laughed, and so did you, because the alternative would have turned it into something.

None of those are decisions, exactly. They do not feel like decisions at the time. They feel like being reasonable, keeping the meeting moving, not making a fuss about something small.

But every one of them was read.

This is the part of the job I find hardest to hold, and I do not think I am alone in that. We tend to think of leadership as the things we do. The decisions announced, the direction set, the difficult conversation finally had. Those matter. They are also a small fraction of what people are actually learning from.

The rest happens in the two seconds after something occurs, when everybody in the room finds out what happens next.

And what happens next is usually nothing. Which is itself a sentence.

I want to be careful here, because there is a version of this that becomes exhausting and slightly tyrannical. Not every moment needs addressing. A leader who responds to everything is unbearable to work for, and there is real wisdom in letting most things go.

The point is not to intervene more often. It is to know that you are always saying something.

When you let a missed deadline pass without comment, you have not stayed neutral. You have said what a deadline means here. When you move the meeting on after somebody has been talked over, you have said what this room is for. Neither of those is an accusation. It is simply what happened, and the people present drew conclusions from it, as people do.

What I have found useful is not becoming more vigilant, which is unsustainable, but looking backwards occasionally.

At the end of a week, one question. What did I let pass, and what would somebody watching have taken from it?

Sometimes the answer is nothing much, and you were right to let it go.

Sometimes you find that a thing you have been meaning to address has now been permitted three times, which makes it considerably harder to raise than it was on the first occasion. It also tells you something about why nobody else has raised it either.

You are always saying something. It seems worth knowing what.

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Praise is the Clearest Instruction you Give