When the world went remote in 2020, I remember the eerie
quiet of our office. Instead of buzzing open-plan chatter, there was the hush
of home workspaces and the glow of screens. It felt like time slowed down even
as crisis swirled outside. Looking back, that period of scattered teams and
upside-down schedules taught me invaluable lessons about leadership. Now,
whenever my team enters a lull—whether it's a slow December or a transition
between big projects—I lean on those hard-earned insights from the COVID-19
era. The key ingredients are simple but powerful: clarity, trust, and rituals.
These were our lifelines in the remote-work storm, and they're just as critical
when guiding a team through any quiet season.
In uncertain or slow periods, clarity is a leader's best
friend. I learned this the hard way during our sudden shift to remote work.
Early on, I gave what I thought were straightforward instructions on a project,
only to have three team members interpret them in three different ways. Without
the usual office touchpoints to quickly course-correct, small ambiguities
turned into big mix-ups. I realized that when communication isn't crystal
clear, a dispersed team can drift off-course fast. Research on high-stress
organizations backs this up: whether in business or the military, teams look to
leaders for consistency and communication, especially when things are in flux.
Transparency and candor from leaders aren't just "nice-to-haves"—they actively
rebuild trust during times of strain.
What helped us during that period was leaning into
over-communication. I started writing daily "priorities emails" each morning,
laying out exactly what the focus was for that day. We set up brief weekly
video calls to re-align on project statuses. The more I communicated the vision
and the next steps, the more confidence the team felt, even if we were
scattered across kitchen tables and home offices. Clarity cuts through the fog
of uncertainty. It's like turning on high-beam headlights when you're driving on
a dark, empty road—suddenly everyone can see the path forward.
But clarity isn't just about tasks and goals. It's also
about emotional honesty. In slow or transitional periods, people may wonder "Is
our team doing okay? What's next for us?" As a leader, being open about
challenges and decisions goes a long way. I've had moments where I told the
team, "Here's what's happening in our sales pipeline. It's lighter than usual,
and we're using the time to invest in training." Not only did this prevent
anxiety, it turned the lull into a growth opportunity. When people feel informed,
they move from feeling adrift to feeling empowered. Clarity creates alignment,
and aligned teams can tackle any slowdown with purpose.
I also learned that trust is everything when you're leading
people you can't see. In the early days of remote work, I fought the urge to
hover—pinging people constantly or worrying if work was getting done. But I
soon discovered that you either trust your team, or you end up doing everyone's
work yourself. I chose to trust, and I wasn't disappointed. In fact, my
employees often exceeded my expectations when given autonomy. I remember
resisting the impulse to check in on a project one night, and by the next morning
one of my engineers had already solved the issue and documented the solution.
That moment reminded me that when people have clarity on the outcome, we need
to give them space to deliver in their own way and time.
This kind of asynchronous trust became essential. If one
team member is tackling a task at 10 p.m. and another at 6 a.m., they both have
to trust that each person will carry the baton. Micromanagement only multiplies
inefficiencies. If you've agreed on a result to be delivered by Friday, you
shouldn't check in twenty times before then—you'll likely just slow things
down. We learned to focus on outcomes over optics. We stopped worrying about
who was online at what hours. Instead, we established clear deliverables and
check-in points, then let people work in the way that suited them. The work
actually got better.
Of course, this trust had to be built. I made a point to
explicitly say, "I trust your judgment—no need to ask my permission for every
little thing. I'm here if you get stuck." We also created a culture of regular
updates without anxiety. At the end of each day, team members posted progress
summaries in our chat. This habit kept everyone in the loop asynchronously and
gave people a rhythm to reflect and reconnect. It wasn't about monitoring—it
was about maintaining connection. Trust thrives on accountability and openness.
Over time, those updates became a source of pride. Everyone was pulling their
weight, and we knew it.
Then there were the rituals—small, repeated practices that
helped our team feel grounded and connected. In the office, it's easy to take
for granted the jokes by the coffee machine or the quick post-meeting chat.
Once we went remote, those needed to be created on purpose. One of the best
things we did was launch a Monday morning video "coffee chat." No agenda, no
status updates—just fifteen minutes where everyone grabbed a mug and shared
something about their weekend. It was optional, but most people showed up. It
gave us a moment of connection, laughter, and normalcy.
We carried that habit forward. During slower months, I
sometimes invented new rituals just to keep that connective thread alive. One
of our favorites is "Friday Wins"—a short email where everyone shares something
they're proud of from the week, personal or professional. We've done virtual
trivia, a rotating "two truths and a lie," even a "random" channel for garden
pictures and dog stories. The point isn't the format. It's the consistency.
These rituals remind people that even if work is quiet or spread out, the
culture is still alive. Everyone still belongs.
Some rituals are purely social, others are grounding. Daily
standups where each person shares a top task. Five-minute "storytime" where
someone introduces a non-work passion. Slack channels for life updates. Or my
favorite from a leadership group I follow: start meetings with each team member
sharing one "risk" and one "reality" from their week. It creates space for
honesty and support. Over time, these rituals shift the culture. They build
resilience and remind people that this is a team, not just a task list. Even
today we can use these slow times to build habits that will help to carry us
through the hectic times.
Looking back on those early remote work months, I now see
how much those lessons apply to any stretch of uncertainty or downtime. The
paradox of a lull is that it can actually be full—full of opportunity to
strengthen your team's culture and foundations. When the business noise quiets
down, we get to reinforce what matters. Are our goals clear? Is trust strong?
Do people feel connected?
Now I use those lulls to sharpen the axe. We invest in
systems, conversations, and people. We prepare for the next run. Because
leading through a lull is still leading—it just looks quieter, more deliberate,
and more human. Next time your team enters a quiet stretch, don't fight it.
Embrace it. Over-communicate the vision. Trust your people. Start a ritual.
Don't treat it as lost time. Treat it as foundation-building time. Because the
teams with the most trust and clarity are the ones that thrive, in any season.
Will MacFee is the president of Systems Support an MSP
providing IT solutions for businesses in greater Boston.
