Outta the Way

Years ago, I worked for a young hotshot manager whose immediate goal in life was to make more money than his father by the time he turned thirty. He was upfront about it and even bragged to people, though without offering much detail. I was seven or eight years younger than him and couldn’t help but wonder about the kind of animosity he must have felt toward his old man. I found it bizarre. However, since it had little to do with me—and I had a young family to take care of—I didn’t dwell on it.

This was in the early eighties. I had just settled into the San Francisco Bay Area, which soon would become the technological marvel the world would know as Silicon Valley. Unfortunately, I wasn’t savvy or connected enough to invest in garage startups, but at least I was catching the zeitgeist wave, which is something The Beach Boys rode.

Meanwhile back East, this was the era of George Steinbrenner, the principal owner and managing partner of the New York Yankees.

My boss loved winners, especially those with Type A personalities or alpha male tendencies, which certainly included Steinbrenner. Under his management, the Yankees—already an iconic team—won seven World Series championships and became one of the most valuable franchises in sports history. This was exactly my boss’s kind of guy.

I remember my boss had a plaque on the wall behind his desk that read, “Lead, follow, or get out of the way!” The saying was attributed to Steinbrenner, though I can’t imagine he was the first to say it. Then again, maybe Steinbrenner had a similar plaque on his own wall. I’ll have to see if George Costanza mentioned it in Seinfeld.

My boss wasn’t nearly as ruthless as Steinbrenner, who infamously fired and rehired manager Billy Martin five times and carried on a long-standing feud with right fielder Dave Winfield. However, he loved the direct approach, attacking problems head-on. Sometimes, that meant attacking other people head-on, usually other managers. My coworkers and I were too far down on the totem pole to warrant direct harassment, but working for him wasn’t exactly a walk in the ballpark, as I recall.

Even more so, I remember the quote and the philosophy behind it, having decided over the years that I preferred the third option. That is, I would rather not lead or follow, although I could do both. To wit, I led four busloads of youth and young adults across the desert to see the pope in Denver in 1993. I’ve also “backed into” decisions, as a friend of mine would say, which is a sort of following–the lamest.

Still, I would rather get out of people’s way. Nowhere is this more apparent in my life than driving and working out. I have written before about driving (see Coming Undone). It’s been a problem, because I am a slow driver. I have always been a slow driver, even when I had that job back in the eighties. I’m not as slow as Prius owners, who–as far as I can tell–enter a state of sensory deprivation that renders them clueless regarding their surroundings. But neither am I a Tesla driver, most of whom find me attractive enough to try to mount my rear bumper as I tool along on the freeway. I suppose I should be flattered.

Boxing and judo are the same thing. I find that people have no trouble correcting me or interpreting the coach’s instructions on my behalf. Again, I should be flattered, except there’s an understanding among veteran practitioners that only the new people do that. If you’re more experienced, you let the coach make corrections and comments. When it occurs, I usually look down, nod, and continue doing what I was doing.

The desire to get outta the way increases with age. The other day my daughter remarked how I don’t seem to care about anything anymore. She put it more colloquially than that, but the gist is the same. It’s not that I don’t care, though. It’s that I’ve stopped looking to leaders for leadership and have no desire to follow people on their own path precisely because it is their path. I’ve spent enough time working on others’ dreams (see Living the Vita Quieta). I say that without the animosity my boss felt toward his father.

It’s important for me to stay in my lane, passing the horse-and-buggy Priuses when I come upon them and letting the Teslas whir by, leaving me in their electromagnetic wake. Just know that if you’re one or the other, you won’t even notice me.

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