By Bill Schubart
Like a good novel, our lives have a narrative arc, during which we are actively participating in and relevant to our world. We are born, rise slowly into sensual consciousness and gradually process what we see and feel. Our juvenile perceptions gradually become knowledge, and, if all goes well, that knowledge binds with experience to become wisdom. We then choose for ourselves whether to share our wisdom by seeking leadership, being drafted into leadership positions or staying comfortable contributing to our world in other ways.
Then, as we age, the arc begins its downward slope as our stamina and acuity attenuate.
When I was young — in the ‘50s and ‘60s — one’s lifespan was considerably less than it is today. Many died in their 50s and 60s. Alcohol and smoking were commonplace. I had friends whose dads worked in the asbestos mines in Eden. Others worked in the Atlas Plywood Plant in Morrisville gluing wood plies together, and some lived in the company housing on Route 100 near Harrel Street.
My father, stepfather and mother were all gone by the age of 55. Still, if one lived to be 60, one had a shot at living to be 70 or 80. My step-grandmother lived to be 101.
I’m now in my 80th year, as is my wife. We scan obituaries to see who among our friends has left us. One of us might mention that an acquaintance has died and the other asks their age. “72” the other might answer. “Good Lord, that’s too young!” the other invariably responds. We see the world from where we are.
We’ve built into the architecture of government our understanding of age and decline. Each branch of the military has age limits to enlist in active duty and the federal limit is age 42. Even for the officer corps, retirement is mandatory at age 64.
The significant increase in lifespan just during our own lifetimes has, for each of us, made the timespan of leadership opportunity a serious decision with serious implications for our communities and our young people.
The dark side of our clinging to power as we age and diminish in stamina and acuity is that we don’t make room for the succeeding generations whose lives we continue to manage — or, arguably, mismanage. We’ve denied our young people a sense of agency and any control in their future wellbeing.
I’ve been drafted into various nonprofit and business leadership positions since I was 25 and, in spite of anxious self-doubt, accepted most of them.
Today, I serve on no boards and have no leadership positions. My time for leadership is over. The downward arc of my life’s narrative will be working to leave a better world than the one I was born into — listening and contributing rather than directing others.
Today, when I’m asked to serve on a board or to consider a leadership position anywhere, I decline, saying my time is past. I still have much to give but want to leave leadership positions open for younger people. I want them to have a voice in their future. I ask what type of person the organization is seeking for board service or leadership and then send them a few resumes or contacts of emerging leaders based on their organization’s needs.
We must know when to step down. Life is not about clinging to power but knowing when to acquiesce to the natural aging process, making room for new leaders and new ideas.
“Founder’s syndrome” is an often tragic manifestation of a leader’s failure to step down and acknowledge the need for different leadership skills. Successful organizations and businesses are organic and undergo constant change, necessitating the need for different types of leadership skills at different inflection points. All the assertive energy required of a founding entrepreneur to launch a new organization or business later potentiates its death when the business moves from the entrepreneurial stage to the managerial stage and leadership authority must be delegated across other skilled managers.
When a founder takes their personal sense of self-esteem from their leadership role rather than their engagement in family and community, and they cling to that self-image, they do so to the detriment of themselves and the organization they lead. I have seen this happen more often than I care to remember.
We’ve built into the architecture of government our understanding of age and decline. Each branch of the military has age limits to enlist in active duty and the federal limit is age 42. Even for the officer corps, retirement is mandatory at age 64 unless the president waives the statute. Then they can serve until they reach 68.
One can receive Social Security payments as early as age 62 with a commensurate reduction in benefits. Normal draw down begins at 66 or 67 but one can also elect to defer payments to age 70.
If we can see ourselves as we truly are at various stages in our lives and know our peaks and valleys, we can then best serve our families and communities.
We must know when to step down. Life is not about clinging to power but knowing when to acquiesce to the natural aging process, making room for new leaders and new ideas.
It’s sad watching this issue play out at our highest level of leadership.
