Our Writers

We’ve become administrators of innovation rather than innovators.

I’m twelve years old, sitting in front of my Atari 800 XL. The amber glow of the monitor bathes my face as I type what should be a simple program. All I want is for this machine to ask my name and then greet me. That’s it. Just “What’s your name?” followed by “Hello, Etienne.”

Press Any Key to Continue

Remember those words? They appeared on every game, every program, every adventure you loaded on those early computers. After the interminable wait while the cassette deck squealed and chirped, loading your program into memory, these five words appeared: “Press Any Key to Continue.”

You’re not having a conversation with your CEO. You’re having a conversation with your story about your CEO.

I’m sitting in my living room. It’s Tuesday afternoon. My coach is on speakerphone. My wife and I haven’t spoken properly in three days.

“Tell me what happened,” she says.

I launch into it. The dishwasher. How loading it became World War III. How a simple conversation about whether glasses go on the top or bottom rack escalated into us retreating to separate corners of the house. I explain my position. It’s logical. It’s efficient. It’s right.