All of the Death Star Senior Managers are off-site for two days at a yearly strategic planning meeting. I am not there.

My first instinctual feeling was, what the $%^%#?

I imagine the Senior Management Club as a smoke-filled room of mastermind strategists plotting the future of the galaxy with cold, calculated precision. Of course I want to be a part of that.

At this new Death Star I have not been included in the weekly senior managers’ meetings as I do not report to this specific Death Star. I technically report back into the central government of the Empire. It doesn’t matter that all my work is here, directly with these Death Star people.

Other Senior Managers have told me I am lucky. They say there is no value-add to these meetings. But I still feel like I am missing out.

A lower-level manager saw me in the hall and asked why I was not attending the off site. It was a punch to the gut. It triggered that typical little-kid reaction of not being included in a game—the feeling that I wasn’t picked for the team. The emotion just surfaced so easily.

if they just knew he was a real killer at the plate they would be more careful

I meet with the CEO every three weeks, and I have brought it up that I should be in the weekly meetings. A few vague excuses later, and I am still not part of them. It bugs me.

Then it hit me today why I should not be bothered. My attitude turned quite quickly to being grateful that I am not part of the off-site or these meetings. And that gratitude comes from a hard-earned experience at my last Death Star.

At my previous deployment, I was not included in the Senior Management meetings in my first two years. For the next five years I took part in them.

In those first two years at the old Death Star, I remember feeling left out. I thought important conversations and decisions were happening without me. I was ecstatic when I was finally invited to the table in the Old Boy’s club.

I was surprised by what I found.

For the weekly meetings, it was mainly talking about the squeaky wheel of the day. It was nothing I didn’t already know, and stuff that quite frankly did not need a bunch of highly paid executives to debate.

Okay, weeklies I get. How about the monthly reviews? Key company metrics, charts, and four hours of reviews. Not much better. It was just a lot of lip service paid to unimportant massaged data to make people feel good.

Then came my first yearly off-site. Big agenda. The planning cycle was supposed to look 1 to 3 years out. Lots of brainpower and strategy were going to happen.

Crickets. More of the same.

The biggest surprise to me was how much time we spent on totally unimportant things: the corporate program flow-down that didn’t apply; what the raises looked like this year; new coffee machines; or “What do you mean our executive bonus is one week later this year? Do you know the impact that will have?” Do we need a ping-pong table? Will that make people happy?

Yes, there was talk about new business, but everything was entirely reactive. It never felt like anyone was actually driving the bus.

I expected the executives to “own” the business and bring big thinking to drive it forward. What I got was no different than any routine meeting at any level within my own group. In some ways they were worse because there were more political games being played. In the end, we all just ran our own fiefdoms.

Working or not working together depended entirely on how well each person liked the other. It was high schoolish in ways. Work got done, but it was never efficient.

So, that flashback today made me thankful. Thankful that I am not in a position to be disappointed again. I know the warts of the current company, and I know exactly what will be ignored. Going to these meetings would just prove to upset me.

I have been on three executive teams in my career. Only one was different and actually addressed serious concerns, and that was solely due to circumstance. It was a startup where bankruptcy was always just one customer problem away. The other two companies were Fortune 500 enterprises. Frustrating. Not worth it. The big boy/girl table was extremely disappointing in these large companies

I am completely okay with not being on the “inside” of my current Death Star. My hopes are high for what they might be doing, but my spidey sense knows it is no different.

Bonus points to me: it generates less work. Being at these meetings means walking away with action items. Actions for meaningless stuff that someone has to own. I see the crap that flows down to a friend on that team. The stuff she has to deal with is stuff I would never want.

With my current attitude of I am here for a good time, not a long time, I am happy to be excluded. It will get me in less trouble.

That mindset shift of being here for a short time is my superpower. When I stop viewing my job as a ladder I must climb, the view from the middle becomes incredibly comfortable. I have the title, I have the senior status, I have the compensation, and I have absolutely none of the performance art that my peers are currently dealing with at that off-site.

So, I will not miss being part of the Senior Management Club. I will not miss debating coffee machines. I will not miss complaints about washrooms. I will not miss the vocal minority who dominate the conversation about items I could care less about.

I have seen behind the curtain. There is no magic.

Buried in this is a hidden message on retirement. Forget about status. Forget about comparing yourself to others. It is not important in life. You will enjoy your time much more if you can just let go.

May the Force (of corporate apathy) be with me.