How a lesson about Ferraris turbocharged my career
I said to a friend several years ago, “I just feel like I’m a Ferrari, but I’m stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic!” This was followed by a dramatic growl of frustration.
I had just started working for a large, Fortune 500 technology company and was a freshly minted MBA. My position in the company was the metaphorical basement, stuck between filing cabinets, my only interaction with people was when they periodically slid file folders through the slot on the door. Again, metaphorically speaking.
In actuality, I was very new to my role and assigned to a product line that just wasn’t being received well by the greater organization. There were politics among leadership that made it impossible to get traction on any kind of work and my goals and objectives appeared to be in name only. In fact, my entire position seemed to only exist to satisfy a small contingent of executives but no one actually expected anyone in my role to accomplish anything.
I felt like a totally wasted resource, and I felt like I’d made a real mistake in joining the company. I was really beating myself up about it that I wasn’t savvier in the interview process and hadn’t read the situation accurately.
So when I told my friend I was a Ferrari, what I was saying was, “I have so much talent, so many ideas, and I am so eager to prove myself and really sink my teeth into the next phase of my career.”
What I really, really meant was, “I’m afraid my career is dead before I’ve even had a chance to try. I’m afraid no one will see how talented I am,” and perhaps, even more honestly, “I’m afraid it doesn’t matter that I’m talented. I’m afraid I don’t matter.”
Well, thank goodness for my friend. She said, “Yes, one of the best things about being a Ferrari is going fast, faster than almost everyone. You might say going fast is what Ferraris are meant to do.” I nodded: yes! She knew what I meant.
She continued, “Going fast is not what makes a Ferrari what it is. In fact, it’s not the only thing that makes a Ferrari valuable. It’s what it feels like to drive one. It’s the brand, the design, the attention to detail. It’s how it looks and feels. It’s how Ferrari limits production so there’s only a small number of cars produced every year. Ferrari as a company is valuable because its profit margins are so high, because of its record on the race track.”
I nodded less vigorously this time, I felt like she was bullshitting me and just talking me off a ledge.
She made her point: “A Ferrari isn’t valuable only when it’s moving at 200 mph. It’s still worth $300,000 when it’s parked on a showroom floor. The value is inherent to it because it’s a Ferrari, and speed is only one component of that valuation.”
Okay, I see where she’s going here.
She expertly reframed (on the fly, by the way) my own sense of worth and value. She reminded me that I have inherent value as a human just because of who I am.
There’s more story to tell here about my experience at this company, but I see this moment as a turning point in how I view my career. Once I could see past the anger of feeling like a wasted resource and see past the fear that maybe I didn’t matter, I could hear the little voice, the gut feeling, telling me not to get a new job. That was a really important voice to listen to.