The View from the Other Side

I thought I was the perfect employee.

I took my breaks exactly on time, ate lunch exactly on time, and went home exactly at five o'clock. I wasn't cutting corners. I wasn't trying to get out of work. I honestly believed I was doing exactly what the company expected.

Then one day I found out my supervisors thought I was a clock watcher.

That one conversation changed the way I looked at work — and, eventually, the way I looked at life.

You see, I thought people judged me by my intentions. They didn't. They judged me by what they saw. While I believed I was simply following the rules, they believed I couldn't wait for break time, lunch time, or quitting time. Whether they were right or wrong wasn't really the point. Their perception became my reality.

Once I learned that lesson, I started seeing it everywhere.

Years later, one of my fourth-level managers stopped me in the hallway and gave me advice I've never forgotten.

"Michael," she said, "walk like you have somewhere important to be."

At first, I thought she was talking about exercise.

She wasn't.

She explained that people notice how you carry yourself long before they notice your work. If you shuffled through the office with your head down, people assumed you weren't accomplishing much. But if you walked with purpose, head up, shoulders back, and a little spring in your step, people assumed you were on your way to solve a problem.

Nothing about my ability had changed. Only the perception.

Another lesson came from something that still makes me smile. One afternoon my manager stopped by my office and pointed to a stack of phone books sitting on my desk.

"We work for the phone company," I thought. "Where else are phone books supposed to be?"

He wasn't looking at the phone books. He was looking at what they communicated. To him, they suggested clutter and disorganization. I saw office supplies. He saw a lack of organization. Once again, I was reminded that people often notice things we never think twice about.

Then there was my first supervisor. Every time I asked him a question, he wrote it down. If I came back a few days later and asked that same question again, he'd remind me I'd already asked it. At the time, I thought he was making life harder than it needed to be.

Looking back, he was making me better.

Before long I learned to carry a notebook everywhere. I started writing things down, doing my homework, checking with coworkers, and exhausting every resource before I walked into my boss's office. By the time I asked a question, it was a thoughtful question — and that changed how I was perceived, too.

As if learning the job wasn't enough, there was something else I had to learn. I was one of only a handful of African Americans in my organization. Fair or unfair, I often felt like people noticed everything I did. Thankfully, older Black employees who had already walked that road took me under their wing. They quietly shared the unwritten rules, encouraged me when I got discouraged, and reminded me that my success could help make the journey easier for someone coming behind me.

Looking back, I wouldn't wish those challenges on anyone. But I also can't deny what they produced. They taught me discipline. They taught me professionalism. They taught me to pay attention to the little things because little things often shape big opportunities.

Most of all, they taught me something I still believe today.

You can't control every opinion someone has about you. But you can control the effort you give, the attitude you bring, the preparation you make, and the example you set.

Funny thing about life… sometimes the lessons that seem the hardest while you're living them become the ones you're most thankful for years later.

I know they did for me.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.