Middle Management 101

Unexpectedly, after years of flying solo or in small groups, I find myself a manager in a large corporation. Not just that. I am that most unfashionable of creatures, a middle manager: layers above me (vice presidents as far as the eye can see), layers below me.

This takes some getting used to. The big company I work for shall remain nameless, but it is a software manufacturer located in a suburb of Seattle. (Hint: the Janet Reno fan club has been disbanded.) This company prides itself on being different from other big companies, and it probably is in some ways. (Are there bare feet in the cafeteria at Procter & Gamble?) But maybe it is less different than it thinks it is.

The media these days are awash in managerial pornography: adulatory profiles of the big-shot CEO, allegedly revealing the secrets of his success. The bookstores offer shelves of advice about how to be a successful manager. A middle manager with dreams, like so many others, of becoming an upper-middle manager reads the articles and scans the books looking for inspiration.

They aren't much help. Bromides and tautologies are common: Treat people like human beings, not automatons; cutting costs saves money. Self-contradiction masquerades as Zenlike philosophical balance: Never lose your temper, but don't be afraid to get angry. When they don't contradict themselves, these guides often contradict one another. One CEO succeeds because of his maniacal attention to detail. The next CEO's secret is setting broad goals and keeping her eye on the big picture. One CEO is glorified as a hyperkinetic workaholic. Another is praised for the wisdom of adopting a measured pace and leaving plenty of time for long-term reflection. If she reads thick history books as an avocation, that's a plus. If she invariably lugs home a pile of spreadsheets, that's also a plus.

The biggest strain of being a manager, to someone who comes to it new in middle age, is that you must think constantly about others. You needn't necessarily think well of them or think kindly about them. It's not that stressful. But you must think something about others all the time. And you have to be in a good mood--or at least you have to pretend. No sulking in your tent like Achilles. There are superiors to impress and subordinates to maneuver (or the other way around). Being a middle manager is performance art. And the show must go on.

This is very different from my previous job experience. A writer works alone, even if he or she is physically in an office filled with other people. Among journalists, an occasional bout of dyspepsia or misanthropy is not merely tolerated but expected. A freelance journalist working at home, meanwhile, can spend days, months, years broody and unshaven (or, he sometimes begins to feel, actually dead), and no one will care. As it happens, shaving is not a high priority at the company where I work. But broodiness is acceptable only among the software developers, who are the equivalent of writers psychologically and professionally. Managers must be chipper.