Project management is like a living garden, where breakthroughs, distractions, and goals all compete for attention. How do we nurture what really matters?
In program management, the job often feels less like running a machine and more like tending a yard – an organic, evolving system that thrives on human touch, rather than merely a space with a fence around it.
The flowers are breakthroughs – those moments when a challenging problem finds its solution, or when a team member develops a new capability that changes what's possible.
The weeds are distractions – the urgent but unimportant tasks that compete for attention, or the scope creep that threatens to overtake your carefully planned deliverables.
The trees? Long-term goals that provide structure and direction, creating shade in which certain projects thrive while others need more direct light.
And your team? They're the birds, squirrels, and bees – moving ideas around, pollinating projects, and keeping things alive. They bring energy, cross-pollinate between departments, and create the ecosystem that makes everything else possible.
Lately, I get the sense we're moving away from walking the ground.
We've handed it off to automation, tools that track updates, flag risks, summarize activity. They're clean, fast, and impressively efficient. They mow the lawn. Trim the edges. Even tell us what's "working."
They're sleek. Low maintenance. Battery-powered. A new "Yard Optimizer 3000" model ships every quarter.
These tools serve vital functions – much like irrigation systems and quality soil testing can elevate a garden. The real-time metrics, automated notifications, and consolidated dashboards provide a foundation for better management. Without them, we'd be flying blind in complex environments.
However, these automated systems lack the capacity to observe what you notice when physically present in your environment.
They can't hear tension in a conversation, or excitement in a casual thread – the tone of voice in a standup that suggests a developer isn't confident about their timeline, though they haven't flagged any risks.
They don't understand sun, wind or rain – context and timing. They can't recognize when a team is experiencing burnout from external factors, or when market changes require a quick pivot away from what seemed important last quarter.
They can't sense when something feels off – not broken, but drifting. When documentation quality subtly declines, or when communication patterns shift in ways that don't trigger any alerts but signal changing team dynamics.
They won't spot when a weed represents a brilliant idea that simply emerged in the wrong location. And they don't notice when the bees disappear – when collaboration quietly diminishes or when knowledge-sharing slows.
Most importantly, these systems cannot build your intuition.
Your instincts develop from direct involvement – not charts or status reports. They emerge from being present – walking, noticing and listening. From genuine conversations. Inside jokes. From seeing people when they're not performing.
That familiarity – the rhythm, the feel – enables you to detect problems before the metrics reveal them.
When we stop walking the yard, we begin to lose that critical advantage. Our gardens become technically maintained but soulless spaces, lacking the organic vitality that drives true innovation and meaningful work.
The "Yard Optimizer 3000" doesn't venture out to admire the flowers with a cup of coffee. It doesn't greet your neighbor. It doesn't plant flowers to attract your bees.
Your yard continues to require a gardener – you, with your experience, intuition, and human connection.
The ideal approach combines the efficiency of good tools with the irreplaceable wisdom of human attention. Let the tools handle what they do best – tracking, reminding, organizing – while you do what only humans can do: inspire, connect, sense, and adapt in ways no algorithm can match.
This week, try scheduling "walking time" in your calendar – 30 minutes with no agenda except to connect with your team members. Ask questions without looking at dashboards. Notice the subtle things happening at the edges of your projects.
Which flowers are blooming that your reports haven't captured? Which areas feel neglected? Where are your bees buzzing with excitement, and where has the activity gone quiet?
The answers won't show up in your automated reports. They're waiting for you in the yard.
And no tool, regardless of its intelligence, can walk it for you.
