Here at Apple, I once worked for a boss who was more myth than man. He was based in Ireland, and he ran a team that stretched the globe.
He was a tour-de-force of culture-building aphorisms, folksy-wisdom, and cogent industry insights. He strode through offices barefoot. He’d visit sites the world over and dance an authentic Irish jig if they hit performance targets. And his countryside abode was rumored to be so prominent that it didn’t have an address – but a name, like Xanadu or something.
For our bi-weekly meetings, I’d drag myself into the office at 6AM my time to catch him midday in GMT. He usually hosted over the phone, whilst driving, unspooling yarns and helping cast vision for a future I needed to help spearhead.
While I remember more of his accent and cadence as he said this, there were two words that resonated the most:
“Change Management.”
Me being me, I liked saying “management” the way he did, with an airy Irish lilt to render it “MAH-nedge-ment.”
Me being me, I liked the sound of change far more than the concept. I’m not good with change, at my core. It’s one of those autistic elements; comfort comes from routine, predictability, not shaking everything up.
But in the coming weeks, as my boss elaborated on the c-word, my worry began to ease, and I got more excited about the idea of change as a whole. Why?
‘Normal’ people can be just as apprehensive about change as autistic people.
The advanced notice surely helped, but there was another powerful notion at work:
I go out of my way to embrace being different. This was the perfect chance to do so.
To stand out in a good way. To embrace the porcupine of change. To stand tall where others would wither. To make change the challenge, because I do like a good challenge.
In my time with my barefoot, jig-dancing, sage of a boss, I feel like I made a step up.
Where an internal difficulty became an inspired directive.
Where change didn’t have to be my antagonist forever.
Where the anxiety could be better channeled into adrenaline.
If resisting change was going to be normal, then I’d be something I’d have no trouble being: abnormal.
photo credit: Joe.ie
The Life Autistic 