How Will Everyone Be Okay?

Last week I asked on LinkedIn what a good handoff looks like where you work. Josie Ann Lee, a Millennial leader I admire, answered with a question I haven't been able to shake: how is EVERYONE going to be okay?

Everyone. Not just the person leaving or the person arriving. Everyone watching, too.

Generational handoffs are happening all around us right now, in public life and at work. So let me tell you about two of them. They're composites of transitions I've seen over the years, and you may recognize both.

Down the hall

Imagine you've been on a team for eight years. Your longtime leader, Ruth, has run the department for nearly three decades. One Friday, an email goes out: Ruth is retiring at the end of the month.

For a couple of years, Ruth had been hearing the hints. "Fresh perspective." "The next chapter." She'd stopped getting invited to planning meetings. She'd been "Ruth from Operations" for 28 years, and she didn't know who she'd be on a Monday with nowhere to go. She had no idea whether anything she built would outlast her. Part of her was grieving. Part of her was done giving her best to a place that had stopped asking for it.

So the handoff is one meeting and a binder. Two weeks later, Ruth is gone. There's sheet cake in the break room, and nobody quite knows what to say.

Her replacement, Avery, comes from outside, hired to "bring fresh energy." Avery arrives with a plan and no way to reach Ruth. Hired as the change agent, Avery worries that asking questions would look like weakness. By Wednesday, the weekly client call is cancelled and the old intake process is on its way out. Nobody asks why those things were there. Nobody's left who could answer.

Within a few months, a key client drifts away. Two colleagues start job hunting. The team splits into camps: the people who miss Ruth, and the ones who've decided to back Avery. You're somewhere in the middle, keeping your head down.

Nobody in this story is a villain. Ruth was hurt and grieving. Avery was afraid of failing. But nobody named any of it, so all of it turned into damage.

Across the street

Now imagine the same moment at a company across the street. Their longtime leader, Ellen, has also decided to retire. Her company asked about her plans early, without pressure, so she had time to think it through. She tells the team six months ahead, and she tells them herself.

Ellen helps shape the hire. Ellen also negotiates two things: six months of overlap so the new leader, Riley, can learn the operations and the people, and a paid advisory role for six months after she leaves. That second piece quiets her fear of simply disappearing.

When Riley arrives, Ellen's first words are some version of Thank goodness you're here. How can I help you get settled? Riley's are Thank you for what you built. I am excited to learn from you.

Over those months, they talk. Riley asks what it was like when Ellen started, and why the weekly client call exists. Ellen tells the stories behind the way things are done. Then she asks, Where would you like to take us? And she listens.

The whole department gets a voice, too. In a few open conversations, everyone explains their role, what works, what doesn't, and what they'd add. It eases the worry that anyone is in this alone.

At Ellen's send-off, she stands in front of the team and says, in so many words: This is Riley's now. I believe in Riley. This team is in good hands.

You can feel the room exhale.

What made the difference

The people across the street weren't better people. They worked somewhere that expected grief in the person leaving and fear in the person arriving, and made room for both. That made gratitude possible, and gratitude opened the door to stories.

Before you tear down a fence, as the writer G.K. Chesterton put it, find out why it was built. Riley listened. Ellen told the story. And because the team heard Ellen's blessing out loud, they knew it was okay to move forward.

None of that started at the handoff. Ruth's exit was shaped by years of how she'd been treated. Ellen's was, too.

The blessing, both ways

My dad, a retired pastor, once told me the job of the older generation is to give the blessing. Not a ton of advice. Just the assurance that we see them, believe in them, and have their backs. And the blessing in return? Live well. Carry the work forward, build on what lasts, and someday give the blessing to whoever comes next.

So, back to Josie Ann's question. In the handoffs you've seen, from any seat, what helped everyone be okay?

More soon,

Mary