One of the strangest assumptions of modern work is that conversations require ceremonies.
Someone emails: Do you have 30 minutes sometime next week? You reply with a few options. None work. They send a scheduling link. You discover a conflict. Eventually, after four or five exchanges, a meeting appears on both calendars—usually a week or two into the future, and it is automatically allocated thirty minutes whether the conversation requires three minutes or sixty.
By the time the meeting arrives, you may not even remember why you scheduled it.
This has become so normal that we rarely question it. We have accepted an enormous amount of administrative work simply to have conversations.
Lately, I’ve stopped doing it. Instead, I tell people, “Here’s my cell phone. Just call me.” If I answer, we talk. If I don’t, I call back when I’m free. The conversation lasts exactly as long as it needs to last (not as long as Outlook decided it should).
This week, someone from an academic institution reached out on LinkedIn. He wanted to discuss measuring organizational culture for a research project. It’s exactly the kind of conversation I enjoy having. So I sent him my number. He replied, “Great. I’ll call you so we can set up a time.”
“No,” I wrote. “Don’t call me to set up a time. Just call me when you’re ready to talk.”
That exchange made me realize how deeply this norm is embedded. We have become so accustomed to scheduling conversations that the idea of simply having one feels almost inappropriate.
The irony is that the scheduling itself is often more disruptive than the conversation.
A ten-minute call can happen naturally between meetings, while walking to lunch, or driving home. A thirty-minute calendar invitation fragments an entire day. It requires context switching before it begins and recovery after it ends. Stack enough of those together and suddenly work feels impossible. My hardest days are the ones with back to back calls. Isn’t that true for all of us?
The calendar becomes a museum of good intentions but why? We often complain that work has become reactive, that there is no time left for deep thinking, strategy, or creativity. Then we fill every available space with meetings that existed primarily because we believed conversations had to be scheduled.
This isn’t an argument against meetings. Some conversations absolutely deserve dedicated time. Difficult decisions. Team alignment. Brainstorming. Coaching. Those moments benefit from presence and preparation. And I schedule (and take) some of those meetings. But we have expanded the definition of a meeting until it includes almost every exchange between two people.
Should the default be different? What if the first instinct wasn’t, Let’s find time, but Let’s talk.
Culture isn’t just revealed in our values. It’s revealed in our defaults. This is one of those cultural norms that applies to us all. It’s just “the way we do things around here.”
The smallest assumptions become the strongest norms. They determine how quickly decisions get made, how responsive people feel, how much energy remains for meaningful work, and ultimately what kind of organization we create together.
So if you want to chat, just call me. 415 244 2617