The Annual Re-Org: A Strategy of Avoidance and Musical Chairs
I am standing in the middle of my kitchen, and there is a cold, spreading dampness seeping through the fibers of my left sock. I stepped in a puddle of spilled water-or maybe it’s juice, I can’t tell-and that specific brand of domestic betrayal is currently coloring my entire worldview. It is sharp, inconvenient, and utterly persistent. It was in this state of mild, soggy agitation that I opened my laptop to find the email. The subject line was a classic of the genre: ‘Exciting Organizational Updates.’ My stomach did a familiar 12-degree tilt. I knew what was coming before I even clicked. It’s that time of the year again, the season where the people at the very top, who likely haven’t stepped in a wet sock in 42 years, decide to play a high-stakes game of musical chairs with our lives.
The New Reality
My name was buried 22 layers deep, reporting to ‘Strategic Synergies and Holistic Outreach,’ a name so devoid of meaning it felt like a personal insult to the English language.
The attachment was a PDF titled ‘Vision_2032_Realignment.’ I opened it, and my eyes were immediately assaulted by what looked like a Jackson Pollock painting if Pollock had been obsessed with hierarchy and blue-shaded rectangles. Lines crisscrossed with reckless abandon. This isn’t about efficiency. If we wanted efficiency, we would fix the broken 52-year-old software that crashes every time someone tries to upload a report. No, the annual re-org is a psychological tool. It is a way for a new executive to plant a flag on the territory. When a person earns a salary with at least 2 zeros at the end of the hourly equivalent, they feel a deep, existential need to leave a mark. If they can’t fix the product-which is hard-they fix the org chart, which is just a matter of dragging and dropping icons in a software program that probably cost the company 1002 dollars per seat.
The Institutional Knowledge Evaporates
I remember talking to Dakota J.-M. about this. Dakota is a prison education coordinator, a job that requires a level of emotional and administrative stability that most corporate middle managers couldn’t fathom. Dakota deals with 122 different personality types on any given day, navigating a system that is designed to be rigid but is often surprisingly chaotic. In that environment, a ‘re-org’ isn’t just a change in letterhead; it’s a disruption of safety protocols.
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They moved the literacy program 12 buildings away from the vocational workshop for no discernable reason other than a new warden wanted to ‘optimize the flow.’ It took 32 weeks to get the rhythm back.
What happened in Dakota’s world? The inmates who were finally building a rapport with their instructors suddenly found themselves staring at 2 new faces. The institutional knowledge-the tiny, unwritten rules about which door sticks and which student needs a specific kind of encouragement-evaporated. Dakota J.-M. had to spend 82% of their energy just shielding the students from the bureaucratic turbulence above. It’s a waste of human potential on a scale that is hard to quantify, yet we do it every single cycle in the name of ‘agility.’
Changing the Map When Lost
Impact Metric: Project Completion
Abandoned (Old VP)
Completed (New Structure)
Constant reorganization signals a fundamental failure of strategy. If you knew where you were going, you wouldn’t need to change the map every 12 minutes. They treat employees as if we are modular components, forgetting that we are people with 2 feet, 10 fingers, and a deep-seated need for the ground to stop shaking beneath us. The stress of this constant shifting is physical. It settles in the shoulders and the lower back.
When the external world feels like a series of disconnected rectangles, seeking specialized care offers a profound contrast:
There is something profoundly honest about a practice that focuses on the flow of energy within a body, rather than the flow of ‘human capital’ through a spreadsheet. Finding ways to ground yourself is essential survival.
Curators of Stability
When everything is in flux, nothing is a priority. We lose the thread of who we are and why we are doing the work in the first place. I think about Dakota J.-M. often when I’m staring at these PDF charts. I think about the 12 programs Dakota fought to keep alive while the administration was busy renaming the hallways.
The Real Blueprints
Official Chart
Static. Easily moved. Rarely accurate.
Trust Networks
Dynamic. Invisible. What actually works.
[The most important connections in any building are the ones that don’t appear on the blueprint.]
We become curators of our own stability. I have 2 or 3 colleagues who I know will help me, regardless of which ‘pillar’ or ‘squad’ we are assigned to this week. These are the real structures that keep a company running, yet they are never captured in the ‘Exciting Organizational Updates.’
Walking On
The wetness on my sock is finally starting to dry, leaving a stiff, uncomfortable patch that reminds me of the spill every time I take a step. That is the legacy of a re-org. It’s not a fresh start; it’s a lingering irritation. We are told to be ‘change resilient,’ which is just a corporate way of saying we should get used to the feeling of being perpetually unsettled.
The real priorities, ignored by the slide deck.
If we actually cared about progress, we would value the 32 years of experience the veteran clerk brings to the table instead of trying to automate their role into a ‘synergy portal.’ But stability is boring to an executive looking for a promotion. Stability doesn’t look like a ‘bold new direction’ on a slide deck. So, the chairs keep spinning.
I’ll go to the all-hands meeting. I’ll listen to the 42-minute presentation about our ‘new identity.’ I’ll probably even nod when the CEO mentions ‘breaking down silos’ for the 12th time this decade. But when I get back to my desk, I’m not going to look at the chart. I’m going to call Dakota J.-M., and we’re going to talk about something that actually matters-like how to help 22 people learn something new in a system that would rather just count them.
The real work happens in the quiet moments, in the 2-person conversations, and in the refusal to let a blue rectangle define who we are. My sock is almost dry now. I should probably go change it, but I think I’ll keep it on for a while. It’s a good reminder that even when things are uncomfortable and damp, you can still keep walking. You just have to find your own rhythm in the noise of the musical chairs.
