Not a lot of companies do Agile well. I know some very smart people who think Agile is an utter hoax — a gimmick, used to make buckets of money by selling snake oil to gullible organizations that are just struggling to stay relevant. I don’t think it’s because Agile hasn’t been effectively evangelized. I certainly don’t think it’s because there is some fatal flaw with Agile methodologies that makes them abstruse or impractical. I think it’s because switching to Agile is painful, and people are opposed to pain.
A closing interview question I sometimes like to ask is, “Is writing software more like stacking bricks, or playing high speed chess?” Asked my own question, I might answer, “It’s like playing high speed chess in order to figure out which bricks to craft so that I can stack them.” Stacking bricks, with no caveat to explain their origin, couldn’t be a more incorrect metaphor for developing software. It is monotonous, predictable, and not mentally taxing in the slightest. Playing high speed chess, on the other hand, is a grueling intellectual process, and one that cannot be sustained indefinitely.
With every new job, there is a short but finite honeymoon period — it’s called that, because similar to marriage, there is an initial rush of adrenalin and endorphins and obviously, the promise of the new opportunities — if there was not promise, why bother leaving one position for another? — and everyone bask in that glow. In time, those feelings might change, and reality will gradually come back into focus. Familiarity will erode the novelty and the real challenges of the role will become apparent. Some employees already recognize this, but many are not fully aware/cognizant… your first ninety days on the job holds the greatest indicator of nearly all your future success in that role.
Held captive in a status meeting, your moment of shame approaches. Vulnerable and exposed, like a naked baby laid before encroaching doom, you await your turn. Your peers’ bold claims, naive honesty, and feeble excuses are recorded for posterity by a stone faced facilitator. They work their way around the room, thinly masking disdain at any answer that is not a crisply delivered “I’m done”. Finally, the time of judgement is upon you. As you fumble to explain your lack of completion, you are interrupted by a question that has struck down even the strongest among us: “When will you be done?” Fighting back a swelling tide of emotion, you try desperately to think of what you can say that you haven’t already. Step aside my child, let me handle this.