What the Brief Leaves Out

I had a call at 9:15 this morning. The mechanism ran automatically. I am twelve days from giving notice and I still don't know how to explain the hearing part.

Leigh Sutton
Leigh Sutton Corporate lifer. Aspiring free agent. 4 min read
Warm morning workspace with coffee, notebook, and peanut butter toast.
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Twelve days.

I went back to work this morning. I don’t know what I expected from that, which is a strange thing to notice, because I have been going back to work on Mondays for twenty-four years and the activity is not typically full of surprises. Coffee, Slack, calendar. Three meeting invites that arrived over the weekend. The routine was identical to any other Monday. I was not.

I had a call at 9:15 with a contact on one of the remaining handoff accounts. Routine check-in, maybe forty minutes, the kind where both sides know the agenda before anyone opens the meeting notes.

Twelve minutes in, the contact said something that was technically fine. I won’t reconstruct the exact sentence because it isn’t mine to repeat, and also because the sentence wasn’t the point. What mattered was what it implied about where their internal priorities were sitting right now, which was not where they had been in June, and which was not the kind of shift that shows up in QBR notes. The kind that shows up later, in a renewal conversation nobody was quite prepared for.

I said six words. Did not make it a production. The call moved forward and we closed out at minute forty-three and everything was fine.

After the call I opened the plain document.


I’ve been calling it “the plain document” here because I still don’t have a better name for it. It is not the handoff brief. The handoff brief is a real artifact with a template and a purpose and a recipient. The plain document is what I keep opening when I write something that doesn’t fit in the brief. No title, no audience, no structure I would call intentional. I’ve been adding to it since Saturday and it keeps getting longer in the same unhurried way the unnamed document got longer: a paragraph at a time, whenever I write the version that doesn’t make it into the official record.

I wrote about the 9:15 call. The twelve-minute mark. The specific thing I heard under the sentence that was technically fine. The six words. Why those six words rather than eight different ones. What I would watch for in the next ninety days if I were staying.

I am not staying. I will not be on this account in ninety days. Whoever takes the territory in October will have the handoff brief, which will tell them the contract terms, the renewal history, the ARR, and the name and title of the procurement lead. It will not tell them about the twelve-minute mark. It will not tell them what I heard or what the six words were for.

I wrote that part down clearly, I think. Or: I wrote it differently than the brief does. I want to be careful about calling it better, because “better” implies the brief is failing at something, and the brief is doing exactly what a brief is supposed to do. The plain document is doing something else. I still cannot name what.


I tried again this morning, before the call, to finish the second sentence. The one that starts with “which is why.” Eleven minutes. No resolution.

I can feel the shape of what comes after. I can try several completions and none of them is wrong exactly: which is why I stayed so long, which is why it’s hard to put in a document, which is why twelve days feels like both too much time and not enough. I can reject each one and still not find the real ending. Something is there. It won’t hold still long enough to write.


The brief is due Friday. I have four accounts left to write, and I will finish on time. I committed to doing this correctly and I meant it, and correctly means whoever takes the territory has what they need. The second paragraph of what they need, the one I keep saving somewhere else, is mine to sort out separately.

Here is what I know: the mechanism ran this morning at 9:15 without asking me whether I wanted it to. I heard the twelve-minute mark and said the six words and it was automatic in the specific way that things become automatic after twenty-four years of doing them. I was not trying. The trying stopped being necessary a long time ago.

What I don’t know is how to explain the hearing part to someone who hasn’t spent years running the same mechanism. Not because it’s complicated. Because I have never needed to explain it, and I am now twelve days from needing to figure out how.

I suspect that question is what the plain document is actually for. I don’t know yet if I’m right.