The Doorway Between Titles

The doorway between job titles does not look like a door when you first see it. It looks like a long hallway with bad lights and a lot of gossip. You are still wearing your old name on your chest: it is shiny and people like it. Your new name is somewhere ahead of you, like a piece of luggage you haven’t found at the airport yet.

People talk to you like moving to a new job is easy. They send congratulations to your inbox. Your calendar fills up with meetings. A slide in a presentation suddenly says you are “In Charge” of things that used to belong to nobody. But your body knows the truth before the email does. It knows you have stepped into a place where the old story is finished, but the new story hasn’t started yet.

Nobody teaches you how to stand in that middle place. They tell you to “hit the ground running.” This is just a way of saying they want you to sprint through a house when you don’t even know where the rooms are. I have learned to love this doorway. It isn’t comfortable, but it is honest. Job titles are just costumes, but doorways are real parts of the building.

My first doorway appeared in Toronto. I moved from a small team to a big job where my calendar was always full. The promotion email used big words like “Thrilled” and “Excited.” But inside the doorway, nothing felt right. In my first meeting, people who used to listen to me now stared at my words like they were checking fruit for bruises. A friend told me: “You are being a little too loud now.” That is when I learned the first rule of doorways: the way you acted in your last room might not work in your next one. Doorways require you to change how you stand, not how loud you yell.

Vietnam taught me that doorways can be sweaty. In Saigon, people do not care about the title at the bottom of your email. They only care if you can help the room be brave before lunch. My new job started on a rainy Wednesday that smelled like garlic. In the kitchen, names do not matter as much as actions. A dishwasher named Long pointed me toward the stove. He said: “You stand here.” He didn’t use fancy words. My old title wanted to talk and give orders, but the doorway wanted me to just be a host. So, I did the hard thing: I stayed quiet. I watched how people worked together with their hands and their hearts. I learned the second rule of doorways: this hallway is not a stage for your next show. It is a place where you learn how to help others breathe.

India gave the doorway manners. My teacher there taught me to use a ceremony when moving from one place to another. This helps your body learn what your mind is too embarrassed to admit: you are not the same person you were before. We made a new habit for job changes. First: say out loud who will do the jobs you used to do. Second: ring a bell and take three deep breaths to calm your nerves. Third: thank the old habits that helped you. Fourth: name the kind of person you need to be in the new job. The first time we tried this, people laughed at the bell. Then, they realized they were finally breathing. Doorways do not like mean jokes; they like honesty.

In Canada, my home, doorways often apologize too much. We say “sorry” like we are passing out bus tickets. I used to apologize for emails I hadn’t even sent yet. My team got tired of it. A manager finally helped me by saying: “Just say what you are keeping, what you are giving away, and what you are changing.” There is nothing fancy about that sentence, but it works. We wrote it on a card and taped it up. The doorway felt better. Being clear is the kindest way to be humble.

Sometimes we make a big deal out of new jobs with “town hall” meetings that feel like weddings for people who don’t know each other. I have done that, too. But the best move I ever learned was from an “auntie” who runs a store. She said: Put your hands into the heaviest work first. In your first week at a new job, do not ask for a microphone. Ask to help with the hardest task. Go help wash the dishes or fix a broken schedule. You will learn more in forty minutes of hard work than in four meetings with sandwich platters. The doorway wants to see if you can work without a helper.

There is a “shadow” that follows people through doorways. It is the ego that wears old trophies like a heavy backpack. This person always says: “In my last job, we did it this way.” The doorway punishes this habit. If you act like you know everything, the room stops telling you the truth. You become the leader of your own old stories. The fix is simple: listen first. Ask the person with the smallest job to speak before you do. What they say will change your first month. What they are afraid to say will show you where the real problems are.

Doorways are like tests for a building. If you leave a job and the work falls apart, it means you were the only thing holding it up. If the house stays standing, it means you did a great job of teaching others. We have a rule for this. When someone changes jobs, we clear the whiteboards and start fresh. If the work stops, we know we have a problem. If the work keeps breathing, that is your true legacy. Doorways hate decorations; they love a strong structure.

In India, moving between jobs happens in a certain order. In Vietnam, it depends on the weather and the rain. In Canada, we try to be very kind so no one feels embarrassed. The trick is to know that the doorway changes shape depending on where you are. Some need bells, some need scooters, and some just need a quiet moment. We made a plan that looks at the “weather” of the job change. It stops a busy Tuesday from turning into a big mistake.

Sometimes we let computers try to help us move between jobs. The computer writes notes and “risk maps.” The notes are perfect, but they feel lonely. They forget about how people feel. So, we wrote a vow: Machines are for memory, but humans are for meaning. We even have a “Mercy Button.” If a plan is moving too fast and people are starting to break, a leader can hit the button to slow things down. We chose to be “expensive” and slow down so the team would last longer. The money people were worried, but then they noticed that workers stopped quitting. Doorways like long-term health more than loud speeches.

The rules of doorways are found in small sentences. Pay on time or pay in apologies. Say why the door is closing. Do not try to be a hero twice. These are not just slogans. They are the bones that keep the hallway from falling down. We wrote these sentences down because doorways are bad teachers when you are hungry or tired. You need to have your values ready in your pocket.

There is also a lot of humor in the doorway. People will call you by your new “Important Title” while telling you a story about a broken toilet or a computer that won’t work. The titles feel like colorful confetti, but the problems feel like real weather. The doorway teaches you which one to believe. You learn to carry a towel for the rain and a broom for the confetti. You learn that being a leader often smells like garlic, not a fancy press release.

Grief also shows up in doorways. You are leaving a place where you knew how to walk and entering a place where you have to learn to dance. People will expect you to be a hero or a villain. The only fix I have found is to bring two tangerines. In Vietnam, you never go through a door with empty hands. We do this at the office, too. When you leave a job, give two gifts: one small thing you fixed before you left, and one helpful introduction for the new person. This makes the ending a real gift instead of just a sad goodbye.

Doorways show who has the power. Who gets to speak first? Who has to wait? In one meeting, I saw a big boss try to be “humble” by speaking last. But he realized everyone was already waiting to hear what he thought. So, we changed the ritual. The person with the smallest job speaks first. They say what the new leader must protect. Then the person who is most afraid speaks. Only then does the leader speak. And the leader is not allowed to “fix” everything: they are only allowed to repeat what they heard. This makes the air in the room feel much better.

Money and numbers also act differently in doorways. We don’t just look at “scores” like they are medals. We look at them to see who needs help. We make sure the money is moved to help with the “human costs” of changing jobs, like training and extra time for rest. Doorways love money plans that act like adults.

I keep a list of sentences that survive these changes. Heat, hands, help, heart. Machines for memory, humans for meaning. If it’s crying, it’s late. Ten minutes of mercy. These are the things that keep us real. One day in Saigon, a worker erased my name from a whiteboard. My old title was gone, but the building didn’t fall down. I felt a little sad, but also happy. Long walked by and said: “The board forgave you.” This means the system worked even when I wasn’t there. That is what Beyond the Title is all about. It is a manual for doorways. It is a way to make sure the people who come after you can walk through the hall without losing their names.

If I could teach only one trick, it would be this: find the heaviest thing you can carry that helps the most people. Do it quietly. Hand it back cleaner than you found it. That is what a good title is for. Leaders do not get rid of doorways. They make them better. They add a bell for breathing and a budget for mercy. We will still make mistakes. We will still use too many slides. But we can get better at being “carpenters” of these middle places. We can remember that being a hero makes for a good story, but being a human makes for a better system.

On a recent Friday, a new job started with a “Quick talk” that felt like a storm. We rang the bell. We used our “mercy” rules. A junior worker spoke first. Someone put two tangerines on the table. Outside, the scooters in Vietnam were busy. Inside, the door opened and closed without any big drama. The hallway held us up. We walked through and became useful in a room that didn’t need our old names to work. That is the only “promotion” I trust: the one that works on a Tuesday and pays for the Friday after.

If you had to move to a new job today, what is one small thing you could do to help the room breathe? What would you put in the doorway so the people on the other side feel safe when your name is late?