Sam had been, in his previous role, someone who knew what he was doing. This sounds like a small thing, but it is not. Knowing what you are doing is not simply a matter of skills; it is a form of security — a set of established responses to situations you can recognise, read the room, and move through without expending the cognitive energy that unfamiliarity requires. In his new job, that security was gone.
He was technically qualified. No one had hired him in error. But qualification is a different thing from fluency, and fluency in a new role is not something you bring with you — it is something you build, slowly, by making small mistakes that you cannot afford to make in front of the wrong people at the wrong time.
He was, in short, good at his job in a way that was entirely invisible for the first six weeks. He watched himself in meetings — careful, measured, contributing just enough — and understood that what he was demonstrating was not actually his capability but his management of the appearance of capability. This was exhausting in a way he had not fully anticipated.
What helped was not formal. The induction had been thorough and well-intentioned; it had also been almost completely useless as a guide to what the organisation was actually like. What helped was a colleague, Priya, who had been there four years and who seemed to understand without being told that what Sam needed was not information but context: not what things were, but why they were the way they were.
He had been there eight months now and was beginning to feel, for the first time, like someone who worked there rather than someone who was working at working there. The distinction was small and would have been invisible to anyone else. To Sam, it felt like arriving, finally, after a very long journey.
He thought sometimes about the people who must have started alongside him in other organisations, in roles where no Priya had appeared. He wondered how they were getting on.