What You Lose Every Time You Get Promoted

Organizations rarely name what actually happens when you get promoted: each transition destroys your identity. The capabilities and ways of working that made you successful at one level become obsolete at the next. Every promotion is not an expansion of capability. It is the death of one professional identity and the birth of another. And that destruction follows a recursive pattern that compounds with every promotion.

The recursive pattern

When you move from individual contributor to manager, you lose the satisfaction of creating tangible output and must find meaning in developing others. When you move from manager to manager of managers, you lose direct contact with individual development and must find meaning in shaping systems. When you move to organizational leadership, you lose decisive ownership of your domain and must find meaning in collaborative deliberation with peers.

Each transition asks you to surrender the identity and capabilities that made you successful at the previous level. The engineering manager who writes code at night isn’t integrating her technical skills. She’s trying to keep a dead identity on life support.

And each time, the new identity is more abstract:

IC identity: “I wrote this code. I designed this system.” You can point to the thing you made today.
Manager identity: “My team shipped this feature.” You can still see the output, even if your hands didn’t create it.
Manager of Managers identity: “The organization delivered these results.” The causal chain is longer.
Organizational Leader identity: “We navigated this tension productively and made a better collective decision.” Your contribution is the quality of the deliberative process itself, almost entirely invisible.

Each level is harder to inhabit, harder to feel competent in, provides less immediate satisfaction. The grief compounds because just when you’ve finally learned to derive meaning from the abstraction, just when you’ve built a new professional identity and found your footing, you get promoted. You spend two years discovering that your value comes from developing your team rather than doing the work yourself. You finally feel the satisfaction when someone you coached has a breakthrough. And then we promote you. That direct development work you just learned to love? Not your job anymore.

The refuge of power

Leaders retreat to what they know, seeking refuge in an identity they know how to inhabit. Where they can still feel competent. Where their expertise still matters in ways they can directly experience. Where they have control over variables that produce tangible outcomes.

When you can no longer derive identity from what you produce, you grab for identity through what you can control. Power becomes the refuge from abstraction and loss. You reach for certainty because deciding means you don’t have to sit in ambiguity. You seek visibility because when people do what you say, you can see your impact. You tighten control because determining outcomes means you’re not dependent on others. You validate your expertise by ensuring people defer to you, proving you still matter.

The CEO who micromanages is seeking the feeling of competence through control because they never successfully grieved the loss of hands-on creation. The executive who dominates meetings is grasping for the certainty of “being right” because the ambiguity of collaborative deliberation provides no ground to stand on.

Organizations full of individually capable leaders become toxic political environments because they promoted people into identity-destroying transitions without support. But this isn’t only psychological failure. It’s structural design. Organizations reward executives who “take charge” and “drive results,” language that encodes a bias toward unilateral control over collaborative deliberation. The very behaviors that indicate unprocessed grief are the ones that get celebrated and compensated.

Power is what you reach for when you’re drowning in abstraction and loss. The organizational debt of eroded trust, broken relationships, alliance-building instead of collaboration isn’t a failure of process or skills. It’s unprocessed grief manifesting as destructive behavior.

What I observe in those who navigate this well

The people who make it through these transitions share something I find interesting: they work as if they’re managing one team, the people who report directly to them. Not the team below them. Not peer domains. Not work that now belongs to their reports. Just their team.

This pattern holds at every level. The manager focuses on their direct reports (the ICs). The manager of managers focuses on their direct reports (the managers). The functional leader focuses on their direct reports (the senior managers). The organizational leader focuses on their direct reports and their peers as their working team.

When leaders violate that boundary, managing past their directs or trying to control peer domains, they seem to be using positional power to avoid grief. Staying in an old identity by force. What they’re missing is operational clarity about where their actual leverage is. A manager trying to manage two levels down is working on variables they don’t actually control. Their direct report sits between them and that team. Any attempt to go around them either undermines authority or wastes energy on influence they don’t have.

The leaders who navigate transitions well appear clearer about the actual nature of their work. They identify where their leverage is and stay focused there. But holding that boundary seems to require staying with discomfort when every instinct tells you to reach for the familiar.

What I notice in those who make it through is something that might be called the discipline of non-interference. The capacity to not act when action would provide comfort but undermine others’ development. Leadership as restraint practiced at scale. The hardest transition isn’t learning new skills. It’s learning when not to use the skills that made you successful. Tolerating the space where you’re not the hero, not the expert, not the decider. They hold the boundary as a commitment that seems to force them to discover what contribution means at this level.

What enables someone to stay there long enough to discover new sources of meaning? Those who make it through begin to notice impact in forms they didn’t previously recognize as contribution. They start to see that the abstract work (the quality of a deliberation, the strength of a system, the capability of their team) actually does produce something real, even if their hands never touch it. The question becomes: can you stay in the not-knowing long enough to discover what satisfaction feels like at this level of abstraction?

The expanding scope

What changes at each level isn’t the principle of “manage your team.” What changes is the scope of what you must consider. But here’s the paradox: your scope expands while your leverage contracts.

Manager: your team’s work, how it fits into the broader function, coordination with adjacent teams
Manager of Managers: the entire functional domain, resource allocation, functional strategy
Functional Leader: your function’s role in organizational strategy, dependencies with other functions, how your decisions affect the whole company
Organizational Leader: the entire enterprise (market dynamics, competitive landscape, cross-functional tradeoffs, long-term viability)

Yet at every level, you still only directly manage one team. The challenge becomes: How do I make good decisions that account for this massive scope of consideration, when my direct control is limited to developing this small group of people who report to me?

The organization works because everyone is applying the same principle at their level. Each person managing their team, considering their scope, with that same discipline recursing down through every layer.

The reframe

At every level, the people who report to you are contributors. They’re just contributing different things:

ICs contribute technical output, functional execution, tangible deliverables
Managers contribute team capability, people development, coordinated execution
Managers of Managers contribute organizational systems, functional strategy, leadership capacity
Functional Leaders contribute cross-functional integration, organizational outcomes, strategic direction

You’re always managing contributors. The nature of their contribution changes, but your job remains the same: enable your contributors to contribute at their level.

And you yourself are a contributor to the level you report to. The manager contributes team capability to the manager of managers. The functional leader contributes cross-functional integration to the organizational leadership team. Everyone is simultaneously managing contributors below them and contributing to the level above them.

You don’t stop being a contributor when you become a manager. You become a different kind of contributor. You don’t stop managing contributors. You manage contributors whose contribution is enabling other contributors. The grief isn’t “I’m no longer a contributor.” It’s “my form of contribution has changed.”

What we’re really asking

Becoming an organizational leader means surrendering decisive control and unilateral authority (the very capabilities that defined functional leadership excellence) and finding meaning in something maximally abstract: the quality of collective deliberation itself. You must derive satisfaction from outcomes you don’t fully control. You must feel competent at work that produces no tangible artifacts. You must find meaning in the deliberative process rather than in decisive action. Your contribution is the quality of your engagement with peers, an identity that only exists in relationship and can’t be fully controlled by any individual.

That’s grief work. Until we name it as such, we’ll keep promoting people into identity-destroying transitions without support, creating the organizational debt of broken relationships and toxic politics, then wondering why smart, capable leaders keep struggling with cross-functional collaboration.

Navigating these transitions requires yet another surrender of what made you successful, yet another grief process for what you’ve lost, and yet another discovery of meaning in increasing abstraction. All while everyone pretends it’s just learning new collaboration skills.

photo by CHUTTERSNAP

The Columbo Advantage: How cultural narratives create negotiation blind spots

When a culture invests heavily in a particular image of power, the blind spots become predictable. Americans consume Superman mythology daily: Iron Man, Captain America, the archetype where speed, polish, and overt competence signal strength. This creates a perceptual framework. Power looks like this.

In negotiation, this framework becomes a vulnerability.

Superman

Cultural narratives shape how people allocate attention, what cues they privilege, and where they expect power to reside. The Superman narrative teaches what strength looks like. More importantly, it teaches what doesn’t count as strength. That negative space becomes structural vulnerability.

When someone scans for Superman, they’re matching against a template: crisp strategy, decisive posture, visible capability. If you don’t fit, you slide beneath conscious attention. You’re not the negotiator. You’re just there.

The evaluation occurs pre-consciously, in seconds. If you don’t fit the schema, you’re filed as non-threat. That classification is remarkably difficult to revise.

Columbo

Go slow. Talk slow. Speak circuitously. Look unthreatening, and they won’t see you coming. By the time they recognize you’re negotiating, you’re already behind them.

Lieutenant Columbo: rumpled raincoat, apologetic tone, meandering questions. Suspects underestimated him because he violated every cultural marker of competence. By the time they realized what was happening, he’d already mapped their story and found the contradictions.

When you violate the template, you create a classification problem. They can’t place you. While they’re trying to understand what you’re doing, you’re already structuring the game.

Speed, polish, and visible efficiency can be tactical liabilities. When you present as Superman, you confirm expectations. You’re legible, predictable, and easy to respond to.

Someone who understands the narrative their counterpart has internalized gains leverage before any tactic is deployed.

Negotiation begins with the cultural stories that shape what people can see. Walking into a negotiation with Superman narratives running in the background isn’t a personal failing. It’s predictable cultural training.

Predictable patterns create predictable openings.

Notice the perceptual system you’re operating inside. Notice the one your counterpart is operating inside. By the time they see you, you’re already standing exactly where you need to be.

The power of ‘What For?’ Questions: Rethinking Conversation

You’re asking the wrong question—and it’s holding you back.

The power of ‘what for’ questions offers a transformative alternative. In conversations, we’re often inclined to ask ‘why’ to understand someone’s motivations or reasoning. We want to know what led them to a certain choice or how they came to hold a particular belief. “Why?” is so ingrained in our thinking that it almost feels like a reflex, especially in moments when we’re seeking clarity or alignment. Yet, while “Why?” pulls us backward, making us trace origins and reasons, there’s another question that can sometimes unlock even more meaningful answers.

When I first started thinking about this distinction, I assumed “Why?” was always the deeper question. But the more I worked with leaders and reflected on conversations, the more I noticed that “Why?” often kept us circling the past instead of building toward the future. That’s when I started asking, “What for?”—and the difference surprised me.

Consider the question “What for?”—a question that directs our attention to the future, inviting responses centered around purpose, goals, and intentions. Unlike “Why?”, which often demands an answer that begins with “because,” “What for?” skips the backward-facing detective work of “because” and leaps straight into the architect’s blueprint of “so as to” or “with a view to.” It’s less Sherlock Holmes and more Frank Gehry.

In many ways, this distinction between “Why?” and “What for?” mirrors the difference between asking “Where are you coming from?” and “Where are you going?” The first question looks back at origins and reasons, while the second looks ahead to direction and purpose. Let’s explore why “What for?” might be the question that opens up more purposeful, forward-thinking conversations.

The Purposeful Shift from “Why?” to “What for?”

When we ask “Why?”, we’re usually looking for causes. “Why did you choose this direction?” “Why do you believe that?” This line of questioning digs up the motivations and histories behind people’s actions and beliefs. And while this backward look can be valuable, it may not always reveal where someone hopes to go next.

Asking “What for?” is a small shift with a big impact. Instead of grounding a conversation in the past, “What for?” directs it toward the future. For example, in a coaching context, asking “Why do you want this promotion?” might reveal motivations like ambition or a sense of obligation. But asking “What do you want the promotion for?” could invite a different answer, perhaps touching on the desire to lead, the vision of making an impact, or the goal of developing new skills. The response here isn’t simply about motivation—it’s about purpose and direction.

“What for?” might feel like a minor adjustment, but it’s the conversational equivalent of turning your GPS from “history mode” to “destination preview.”

Practical Applications: Shifting Conversations Forward

Here’s how “What for?” can make a difference in a few scenarios:

In Executive Coaching

When a client is setting new goals, asking “What for?” helps them to envision the purpose behind those goals. Instead of grounding their thinking in past achievements or past struggles, it encourages them to articulate the future impact they’re hoping to create. This forward look can lead to greater clarity and motivation.

In Team Meetings

When a team faces a decision point, asking “Why are we choosing this approach?” could yield a list of past-oriented reasons, often grounded in what has or hasn’t worked before. Asking “What are we choosing this approach for?” invites the team to discuss the outcomes they aim to achieve, keeping the conversation focused on objectives and end results.

In Personal Conversations

Even in everyday discussions, shifting to “What for?” can open up new perspectives. Instead of asking a friend “Why did you decide to move?” try asking “What are you hoping to gain from the move?” This small change can reveal the goals, dreams, or opportunities they’re looking forward to, making the conversation more about their aspirations than their past.

The Different Impacts of “Why?” and “What for?”

Both questions have their place, and each has the potential to lead to important insights. “Why?” helps us understand context and background, which can sometimes be essential. But “What for?” brings us to a different layer of understanding, one that speaks to vision and purpose. While “Why?” can help explain what led to today, “What for?” can help shape tomorrow.

In conversations, as in life, both questions matter. “Why?” connects us to our roots, grounding us in what’s brought us here. But it’s “What for?” that pulls us forward, aligning us with the goals and intentions we often overlook. The balance between them is where meaningful progress lives. So, the next time you’re tempted to ask “Why?”, pause for a moment. Maybe it’s time to ask, “What for?” instead—and see where it takes you.

An Invitation to Experiment

Rather than simply deciding that “What for?” is better than “Why?”, think of this as an experiment in how we approach conversations. Try this: In your next meeting or conversation, pause before asking “Why?” and reframe it as “What for?” Notice how the responses shift. Does the person lean into their goals instead of their reasons? Or try flipping it—ask yourself both questions about a current challenge and compare the answers. What does “Why?” reveal about your past, and how does “What for?” shape your vision of the future?

By leveraging the strengths of each, we can have richer, more purposeful conversations. You might find that each question brings out a unique perspective, but that “What for?” invites others (and yourself) to connect more deeply with where you’re heading.

Go HERE for more Essays.

One more time: How do I lead by example?

You don’t. You never do.

Leading by example is based on a faulty assumption: that people will see only the behavior you want them to see and follow only the behavior you want them to follow.

News flash: the people who work with you see everything.

They see not only what you want them to see but they also see what you don’t want them to see.

They see not only what you do but they also see what you don’t do and what you choose not to do.

They see what you choose to do or not to do and to whom.

They see what you choose to do or not to do and for whom.

As a matter of fact, the more time they spend with you, the more clearly you reveal yourself to them. The longer they observe you, the less what you say matters. What matters more are your actions – and specifically how consistent they are over time.

They see when and how often you tell them what to do.

They see when and how often you ask for their opinion.

They see when and how often you admit not knowing something.

They see when and how often you admit you made a mistake.

They see when and how often you apologize… and when and how often you apologize in public when you offended in public.

They see when, how often, and how well you listen.

They see when and how often you praise in public. And how specific your praise is: not the anemic “good job!” but rather a vigorous acknowledgment of what exactly a team member does well and how that contributes to the good of the team.

In addition to being based on a faulty assumption, “leading by example” might also be caused by attribution bias (you believe that your behavior has caused theirs, that your “leading” has caused their “following”) or by buying into the narrative of the “heroic manager” (what I call the “Gandhi complex”). But that will have to wait for another post.

These are thoughts on the book I am writing. They were first delivered to readers of my free, monthly newsletter. It’s easy to subscribe… and unsubscribe.

[Update 2026: I followed this observation to its logical conclusion—and it led somewhere unexpected. See Abandon All Hope of Mattering.]

We can overcome our empathy deficit

Given our current circumstances after six months of the pandemic, and not being anywhere near a new normal, you would think that we would be sensitive to the realities of the people around us. Well, according to Scientific American, it turns out we’re not. (( https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/the-us-has-an-empathy-deficit accessed 200918))

Empathy is a powerful force and human beings need it. Here are three things that might help to remedy our collective empathy deficit:

Take the time to ask those you encounter how they are feeling, and really listen. Try to put yourself in their shoes. Remember that we all tend to underestimate other people’s emotional distress, and we’re most likely to do so when those people are different from us.

Remind yourself that almost everyone is at the end of their rope these days. Many people barely have enough energy to handle their own problems, so they don’t have their normal ability to think about yours.

Finally, be aware that what is empathy for one person may not be empathy for another person. It’s not a concept that speaks for itself. Asking your friends, family, and coworkers what empathy is for them might open a new door to understanding and helping those around us.

Any management equivalent to Truffaut and Godard?

A review of Two in the wave, a documentary on the friendship, collaboration and falling away of these two French filmmakers of the Nouvelle Vague makes me miss and look forward to more research on how managers who are successful (on their own and in their respective fields or industries) help and support each other.

As critics for the iconoclastic film magazine Cahiers du Cinéma in the early 1950s, Godard and Truffaut had shared a similar aesthetic. Their masters were Alfred Hitchcock, Jean Renoir, Roberto Rossellini and Fritz Lang, whose films were underestimated at the time and whom they defended with the pugnacity of young prizefighters. (FT.com)

I wonder who the captains of industry, today’s masters of the universe, look to as their “masters”: Mentors? Fellow executives in the same industry or in other industries? Professional coaches? Consultants? Management gurus? Whatever book they bump into at the airport bookstore?

It also makes me look forward to a documentary on the collaboration of three Mexican film directors and producers who are doing excellent work together: Alejandro González Iñárritu, Alfonso Cuarón, and Guillermo del Toro. No rush though… not with the quality and original work they are producing these days.