Across industries and continents, large-scale corporate restructuring has become an ordinary event. Once seen as exceptional, such upheavals now feel routine. A company announces a strategic overhaul. Executives are replaced. Entire layers of management are flattened. Operations once deemed central are dissolved. Suddenly, teams are reorganized, and people find themselves in new roles, or with no roles at all.
This wave of transformation is often justified in the language of efficiency or innovation. Digitalization, changing markets, and artificial intelligence are offered as explanations, if not rationales. But beneath the surface lies something more unsettling: a growing realization that much of what organizations once held tightly can, in fact, be released with little disruption. Companies continue to function even after shedding what seemed like essential limbs.
In these moments, the idea of indispensability begins to erode. We witness people being let go, and yet the gears of business keep turning. Customers are still served. Products still ship. Strategies shift, but the institution endures. What was once unimaginable becomes just another page in the quarterly report.
The Myth of the Essential Worker
It is deeply human to believe that what we do matters. This belief anchors our sense of worth. Whether standing at a cash register, analyzing market trends, or guiding a boardroom conversation, people want to feel that their presence is necessary. The phrase “I must be there” is not just a logistical statement. It is an emotional declaration. A quiet affirmation that one’s work has meaning.
Yet corporate restructurings often dismantle this belief. Employees, some of them long tenured, disappear overnight. Executives who once shaped strategy are replaced without much fanfare. And the company, in most cases, adapts. Business proceeds. Stakeholders adjust. Life, it turns out, goes on.
This is not a judgment of individual talent or commitment. It is simply a recognition that organizations are built to absorb change. They are designed, often unconsciously, to function through redundancy and replaceability. People may bring value, but very few are genuinely irreplaceable. And this truth, while painful, can also be clarifying.
When we recognize that the machine will run without us, we are invited to reflect more honestly. Were we truly essential, or merely part of a structure that made us feel so? Were we sustaining the business, or just one interchangeable gear in a well-oiled system?
Responsibility Without Illusion
To accept one’s replaceability is not to become indifferent. It is possible to be deeply committed to one’s role without believing that the world will collapse in our absence. This balance between care and clarity is subtle, but it carries great ethical weight.
Responsibility means showing up. It means doing what is required with seriousness and attention. But it does not require self-importance. In fact, the more mature form of responsibility is one that resists the need to prove significance. It simply does the work, not because of how it will be seen, but because the work is worth doing well.
This mindset frees us from anxiety. If we do not need to be essential to be valuable, then we can focus on contributing sincerely, rather than performing necessity. We are no longer driven to defend our relevance at every turn. We become less reactive, more focused, and, in many ways, more peaceful.
It is also a healthier way to relate to others. When we no longer cling to the idea that our efforts are more vital than others’, we open up space for collaboration. We listen more. We delegate with trust. We allow ourselves and others to rest, without guilt. That, too, is a form of responsibility.
The Priesthood of Complexity
In many large organizations, complexity is not just an accident. It becomes a form of status. Processes grow dense with steps. Meetings multiply. Jargon blooms. People spend hours crafting slide decks and reports that say little but sound important. In such environments, being busy becomes a badge. Clarity, on the other hand, becomes rare.
Certain roles thrive in this atmosphere. Product managers, marketing leads, research analysts, customer strategists; all can become gatekeepers of language and ritual. They build systems of interpretation, curate internal narratives, and maintain the structures that justify their positions. Over time, the work begins to feel sacred. Specialized. Indispensable.
But when restructuring happens, the illusion is exposed. The carefully maintained rituals are paused or erased, and little changes. The projects still move. The customers still buy. The business still operates. The question then arises: were these layers truly needed, or were they performing a sense of necessity?
This is not to say that complexity is always bad. Some domains require nuance and depth. But when complexity exists only to defend roles or maintain appearances, it becomes its own justification. It no longer serves clarity or function; it becomes a kind of corporate priesthood.
When AI Becomes the Mirror
Artificial intelligence has entered this space not only as a tool but as a revelation. It completes reports, summarizes meetings, analyzes data, drafts code, and even crafts strategy outlines. And it does so with startling speed and consistency. Tasks that once took hours of coordination are now executed in seconds.
This change forces a difficult reflection. If AI can do what many teams once did, often more efficiently, then what exactly were those teams producing? Were they solving problems, or were they reciting rituals? Were they essential, or were they fluent in the language of being busy?
AI is not perfect. It requires guidance, context, and often human judgment to be meaningful. But it makes something very clear: a great deal of what we called knowledge work was not knowledge, but translation. Not innovation, but repetition. Not clarity, but complexity disguised as effort.
Ironically, AI is already reproducing the very thing it exposed. New layers are emerging: model fine-tuners, prompt engineers, system architects. New rituals are being formed, new jargon spreading. The complexity returns, wearing different robes.
Humility as a New Discipline
The challenge, then, is not simply to adapt to change but to do so with perspective. In a world where roles shift, titles change, and even intelligent machines can take our place, how do we find a grounded sense of meaning?
The answer may lie in humility. Not the forced modesty of pretending you have no value, but the deeper kind: the kind that accepts reality without distortion. Humility allows us to see our place clearly. To work with integrity without needing to be seen as irreplaceable. To offer our strengths while letting go of ego.
This kind of humility is not passive. It takes strength to admit that what we do may not be essential, and still show up fully. It takes maturity to care deeply, knowing that the system may not depend on us. It takes courage to let others shine, to accept change without bitterness, and to keep contributing without clinging to status.
In times of restructuring, these qualities become rare and precious. The loudest voices may win the temporary spotlight, but those who endure, those who lead with calm, patience, and clarity, are the ones who bring stability when everything else is in motion.
A Deeper Measure of Worth
There will always be new hierarchies. Promotions, exits, praise, and silence. Some will feel they have gained. Others will feel they have lost. But these labels are often short-lived. Today’s winners may fall in tomorrow’s shuffle. Yesterday’s unknowns may quietly become foundational.
In such a world, the question shifts: What does it mean to live and work with dignity, when the scoreboard is always changing?
Perhaps it is this: to show up with care, even when no one is watching. To build something honest, even if it is not rewarded. To let go of illusions about our own importance, and to treat others as partners rather than obstacles. To focus less on being essential, and more on being generous.
That is a different kind of legacy. One that does not need headlines or promotions to endure. One that is not tied to a job title or a function. One that lives quietly in the memory of those who felt seen, trusted, and supported, even when everything else was being restructured.
Image by Brian Merrill
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