Lights Out.

I once attended a farewell dinner for the outgoing CEO of one of the leading insurance companies in Kenya. I knew him from golfing circles. As I sat in the ballroom sipping both passion juice and tea (I don’t know why I serve both at the same time in hotels, ushamba hehe), I secretly admired him for leaving the room while everyone was still clapping, literally and figuratively. Speaker after speaker paid glowing tribute to how he had driven business growth, both in terms of revenue and people development. He must have been feeling quite happy with himself, I thought.

One would not be blamed for questioning why, then, he was leaving, yet no one had asked him to; he decided to exit. That takes a deeper awareness, one we rarely see with most top performers. To exit when everything and everyone is screaming for you to stay, can only be sustained by a conviction that sees beyond one’s success, and the applause of the masses.

Yet many high-impact individuals make a fatal mistake at this tipping point. The internal signs are clear and loud, but the trappings of the big job keep them blind and deaf. They then overstay their welcome and end up running out of runway and crashing. I know of a mzee who was known as the turnaround guy in a regional retail chain. He had the Midas touch and often made headlines in the business dailies. Unfortunately, he missed the exit on his career highway and kept going, only to undo what he had built so admirably. The company failed with him at the helm, leaving behind many disgruntled shareholders and investors. I’ve seen him a few times since then, and it seems to me that he still carries the weight of that difficult finish.

The insurance guy, in contrast, still has a spring in his step when we meet. He once told me he’s gone into farming, and I’ve never seen such joy on a man’s face brought by growing cabbages. He’s eager to engage, and I feel that’s because he has fewer regrets to carry. So what makes some men and women finish well and others not so well? The theory, according to Lucas, is how they respond to the looming darkness/unknown in the next phase of life.

What happens after the applause? When you clear your desk, hand over the laptop and office keys, and go home after the farewell dinner? You wake up the next morning, and there’s no PA to guide your day. Your phone is strangely silent, and you are still at home in pyjamas at 10 am. Even your house feels strange having you in it during the day. The structure that kept you going for years is suddenly gone, and someone else has taken your place at work. Life moves on after we have moved out. We may feel indispensable when in the job, but the stark reality is that we are far from it. Suddenly, your opinion is no longer being sought as much. The industry has a new captain, and it’s not you. Now that can be stressful. That’s when you realise the lights have been switched off on your long, illustrious season. It’s time for something else, but you are clueless and—if you’re honest—scared of what the unknown holds.

When the lights go off after you leave the stage, what do you do? Perhaps the lights don’t even go off, but you’ve left the stage, and it’s time to mulika your replacement. Off stage, the world is dim, maybe even dark. What makes the difference is if we started peeping into the darkness occasionally, while on stage. That may make it less scary.

Darkness can be good. Of the two corporate leaders I mentioned before, I think one was attracted to the dark and lit a candle to try to find their way through. With courage (doing it afraid) and curiosity, he discovered a light at the end of the tunnel that grew brighter the deeper he went. He was most likely scared of the dark but took his chances. With time, he discovered that the approaching light was not an oncoming train headed to smash him, but another life of significance loading.

The other mzee may have been scared of leaving the stage because of the darkness beyond it and forced an extension of his stay. It became stale to the point that the stage lights went off on him, and he had to be pushed out. At this point, no one is clapping, and that makes the darkness darker.  

Hardly anyone talks about life after the big title and glamorous job or career. For some reason, we are held captive by a false sense of permanence that misleads us into believing that our season of success will last forever. Beware of success, folks. Past success is the biggest threat to future success. A roadmap on how to navigate life when we get to mwisho wa reli would do us some good. One approach is to start imagining our lives without our current occupations. Draw a picture of how you want your life to look as an ex-MP, ex-manager, ex-CEO, ex-director, or board member. Maybe even as ex-president (ifikie His Excellency huko state house hehe).

The Halftime Program offers a roadmap that has made the midlife transitions for many people smoother, myself included. It helps you visualise the life you want one year from now and the milestones you need to achieve it. Along the way, you identify the accelerators and obstacles you might encounter and commit to tackling them within given timelines. This is work I deeply enjoy doing as a halftime coach and facilitator. If any of you folks are exiting your current stage or know someone who is and needs some support, let’s meet behind the tent hehe..

So, what do you do when the lights go out? Take a break and recharge. You can even do nothing for some time. Then, at some point, get up and start interrogating what’s next for you. That comes through intentional reflection, and looking hard both inward and upward to Sir God for guidance.