Insights into the forces shaping our industry.

Every Thanksgiving, families gather around the table to share food, football, family debates over cranberry sauce preferences, and generally enjoy a holiday built on tradition. But behind every one of those traditions is usually a turkey who didn’t quite manage to outrun destiny.

This year, however, destiny met its match.  This year’s turkey was Tom T. Turkey, and Tom was not the kind of bird who simply accepted the status quo.

Tom was the sort of turkey who listened to leadership podcasts in the early mornings, nodding knowingly like he understood EBITDA. He gave weekly motivational speeches to the chickens, most of which were met with enthusiastic clucking. He organized team-building exercises (usually involving corn), mediated disputes between roosters over whose feathers looked more “executive,” and once conducted a conflict-resolution workshop that ended a three-week squabble over a sunflower seed. Tom had charisma. Tom had emotional intelligence. Tom had a feathered chest full of ambition and enough self-awareness to make him dangerous. In a good way.

So when Farmer Jenkins posted the annual Thanksgiving “job opening” on Monday morning: “URGENT: Turkey needed for Thanksgiving dinner. Seasonal role ending Thursday.”, Tom stared at it with a mixture of horror and critique. Seasonal? That was corporate code for “no benefits, immediate burnout, and zero room for advancement.” The job description was basically a short-term contract with… well… no long-term prospects at all. He’d seen better openings for barn interns.

This was not a position Tom was willing to entertain. Not this year. Not with everything he had going for him. Not with the personal growth he’d undergone. Not with his updated LinkedIn headline that now boldly read, “Strategic Gobble Optimization Leader | Executive-Level Pecking Alignment | Open to New Opportunities (Preferably Not Oven-Centric).”

Tom made a decision. A bold one. The kind of decision that separates the visionaries from the rotisserie. He marched, no, strutted, into Farmer Jenkins’ barn office with the swagger of someone who had recently completed a seminar on “Leading with Clarity and Conviction.” He hopped onto a hay bale like it was a conference room chair and opened with the kind of line only a truly self-actualized turkey could deliver:

“Farmer, thank you for taking the meeting. I’d like to align on expectations and discuss which success metrics you’re hoping to achieve this Thanksgiving.”

Farmer Jenkins blinked. This was unexpected. The cows looked on with mild confusion. The chickens huddled together in awe. The ham pretended not to listen but was absolutely listening because hams are nosy.

Tom continued with perfect composure. He empathized with the farmer’s hunger. He acknowledged the importance of tradition. He validated the desire for a center-of-the-table protein. And then he launched into an alternative proposal with the enthusiastic confidence of a consultant who bills by the hour: what if they diversified the protein portfolio? What if ham took the lead this year, given his underutilized skillset? What if they explored sustainable solutions like tofurkey? He spoke as if he were presenting to a boardroom rather than standing in a barn discussing whether he should be brined or basted.

And then, because Tom was a turkey of action, he began scratching a full flowchart into the dirt with his beak. A real flowchart: org structure, resource allocation, cross-functional barnyard collaboration, protein risk mitigation plans, and even a projected morale score if the ham were to assume the “lead entrée” role. The ham blanched or at least glistened.

Farmer Jenkins rubbed the bridge of his nose, perhaps in disbelief or perhaps in admiration. This wasn’t normal turkey behavior. Normal turkey behavior was panicking, running in circles, and occasionally bumping into fences. Tom was talking like he’d spent his entire life preparing for a TED Talk.

But Tom wasn’t finished. He took a deep breath, leaned in, and delivered the line that would alter his fate entirely.

“Farmer, have you considered the long-term consequences of eliminating the only resource on this farm with cross-functional experience?”

And it hit the farmer like a sack of feed. Tom wasn’t just avoiding the chopping block; he was highlighting his strategic value. Tom was a communicator. A problem-solver. A visionary who could lead barnyard culture initiatives. A turkey who could gobble with purpose. A bird who understood the value of stakeholder alignment and ongoing professional development.

By Wednesday afternoon, Farmer Jenkins presented Tom with a formal offer letter, handwritten, of course, because printers and farms rarely mix. The title read: “Director of Holiday Morale & Non-Perishable Solutions.” It came with respectable responsibilities like greeting guests, motivating barn mates, and participating in the occasional photo op. Most importantly, it came with a very explicit clause ensuring Tom would have “no involvement with ovens, roasting pans, brining solutions, or culinary preparations of any kind.”

Tom accepted with a flourish…signing with an enthusiastic gobble…then strutted out of the barn with all the confidence of an engineer who just accepted a Senior VP role and knows exactly how essential he is to the company’s future. The chickens cheered. The cows mooed approvingly. The ham sighed with existential dread.

If Tom were to apply for any of the roles I fill, he wouldn’t just get interviewed, he’d run the interview. He had communication skills that would impress any C-Suite leaders. He had adaptability that could survive any corporate restructuring. He had emotional intelligence strong enough to defuse a tense budget meeting. He had problem-solving chops that would make him a standout candidate in any talent pool. And, perhaps most importantly, he had the instinctual ability to avoid becoming dinner…a skill set with surprisingly universal applications.

Tom’s tale of grit, humor, and shameless self-advocacy reminds me of something: how grateful I am for the people I get to work with every day. The industry leaders who show up with vision, heart, skill, and dedication. The clients who trust me to help build and grow their teams. The candidates who trust me with their careers. The partnerships that turn into friendships, the challenges that turn into growth, and the conversations that turn into opportunities.

So, Thank You! Thank you for the trust, the collaboration, the momentum we’ve built together, and the chance to work with the very best people in the electrical industry. It’s truly been a wonderful year full of progress, laughter, and meaningful connections.

And as you carve your turkey this Thanksgiving, just remember somewhere, somehow, Tom T. Turkey is facilitating a barn-wide seminar on “Holiday Engagement Strategies,” living his best life, and confidently not being eaten.

Happy Thanksgiving and may your negotiations be as successful as Tom’s.