← Back
Leadership · 8 min read

You Are Not Surrounded by Idiots

The question that ended the conversation

An old friend of mine came over to talk shop. He launched a tech startup this year, the product is still a prototype, and tasks and decisions change in real time. His team, mostly programmers, is not handling it well. They are scared. They feel insecure. Every time he explains the rationale behind a change, he hits what he called a mental firewall.

He wanted a communication technique from me, something he could deploy on Monday. Instead I asked him four questions. How well do you know your team? What do they do after work? What are their hobbies? What decides whether they are drawn to one task rather than another?

I did not get an answer. I got a surprised look.

I smiled, because I recognized that look from my own years of leading technical teams. I love change and I need it, and I still have to remind myself that this is not the default human setting. For plenty of people stability is worth more than novelty, and expecting them to want change as badly as you do is wishful thinking dressed up as leadership.

What I have learned is that when we cannot get along with the people we work with, we are not surrounded by idiots. We are surrounded by different types of thinkers. Each of them carries their own ambitions, working style, and rules they live by. The leverage sits in knowing enough about the person to predict how a change will read to them, not in a better slide explaining that change.

Four temperaments, twenty five centuries later

Around 460 to 370 BC the Greek physician described four temperaments, and the vocabulary has outlived every wave of management fashion since.

Sanguine people are optimistic and social, always ready for a new adventure. They turn every standup into a party.

Choleric people are goal-oriented and ambitious, natural leaders. This is the developer pushing for the deadline while everyone else negotiates scope.

Melancholic people are analytical and detail-oriented. This is the teammate who finds every edge case, including the three you quietly hoped nobody would notice.

Phlegmatic people are peaceful and easy-going, natural mediators. These are the ones who keep the team calm during a production incident.

The model is built on general observation, which is a weakness in a psychology paper and a strength on a Tuesday afternoon. You can hold four categories in your head while a difficult conversation is already happening. Knowing that the person in front of you needs the deadline, or needs the edge case acknowledged first, changes your tone before you open your mouth.

Colors on the wall

’s bestseller Surrounded by Idiots takes that ancient frame and repaints it for a corporate audience. Instead of Greek names he uses colors, and across the book he shows how people land on a color through what they actually do in concrete situations.

The reframing does more work than it looks like. Nobody wants to be told they are melancholic. Plenty of people are happy to say they are blue, and once they have said it out loud, a conversation about how they want to receive feedback becomes possible at all. That accessibility is the whole product, because a framework you remember and use beats a more accurate one you read once and forget.

Where the color stops working

This is where I part company with the enthusiastic version of the idea. The moment a color becomes a label you hand to a person, it stops describing behavior and starts assigning a role. Handed generously it works like an immunity card, because the yellow one is allowed to miss deadlines, that is just how yellows are. Handed carelessly it works like a verdict, and the red one never gets to be careful again.

I learned this from the other side of the table, thinking about at work. Walking into a team and announcing a diagnosis is a bad move, for a reason that has nothing to do with shame. It hands the other side a piece of information and no instructions, and most people genuinely do not know what to do with it. Communicate the need, not the diagnosis. Not I have , but what is my role in this meeting and what do you expect from it. Not I am wired differently, but comments at the end of the day do not reach me, so send them in the morning.

Swap diagnosis for color and the rule holds exactly. I am blue is a label. I need the spec before I commit to an estimate is a request you can act on this week.

The bridge has two sides, though. Reading your team does not make you responsible for every preference in the room. Budget, law, contracts, and a shared culture are the boundaries of the pitch, and nobody opts out of them because of their color.

There is a second limit, quieter than the first. The color you read off someone may be the one they learned to perform. , the constant work of hiding how your head actually operates and imitating the room instead, is exhausting, largely invisible, and a reliable route to on its own. The sanguine teammate who turns the standup into a party may be performing energy because it was rewarded in three previous jobs. If your read comes only from behavior in meetings, you are reading the mask.

My color?

So what am I? I cannot answer that honestly with one word. Erikson allows for two colors in one person, and even that is not enough in my case. My neurodiversity draws on all of them, and I can only be one at a time.

On a good morning I am the one pushing for the deadline. Two hours later I am the one finding every edge case, and by late afternoon I am not much use to anyone. That is not a mood swing a better planner would fix. A neurotypical colleague starts the day like a car, flowing smoothly enough to pull away from the curb and keep going. I work like a plane, burning most of my fuel on takeoff and landing, and to take off at all I need rocket fuel, which usually means a real deadline or genuine excitement.

The battery follows the same logic. It does not drain gradually. It reads full, and then it reads empty, with no useful warning in between. So my breaks go into the calendar in advance, before I need them, because the version of me who needs one is in no state to schedule it.

One more asymmetry is worth naming. A neurotypical brain filters out roughly 80 percent of incoming stimuli. Mine lets roughly 80 percent through. That is a superpower in a workshop, where I catch the sentence somebody almost said, and it is punishing in a shopping mall on a Saturday. Same wiring, different room.

It is chaos, and I love it.

What my friend went home with

None of this collapses into the technique he wanted. The closest thing to one is a discipline. When you feel a strong urge to hand your team the right answer, that is usually the moment to hand them the question instead, because a decision the team owns survives contact with a changing prototype and a decision you own does not.

So he went home with homework rather than a script. Learn what your people do after work. Learn what pulls them toward one task and away from another. Then say the same thing about the roadmap four different ways, because you are talking to four different people.

The firewall he keeps hitting was never built to block him. It went up because nobody in that room has really been introduced yet.